There is a cliché that I've grown to dislike—"enjoy it because they grow up fast", and I say 'dislike' because while I know that this holds some truth, still, it's a nagging reminder that I and most of us take the rushed road toward life.
I don't want fast. I want more slow.
Slow lingers a bit longer. Slow brings you closer to 'in the moment.' Slow let's you enjoy every mundane minute. Slow makes you smile at the glimpses of magic in your life without you ever wondering how you'd miss it. Slow is right here, right now.
Today is my husband's 42nd birthday. He is my everything. He often reminds me that slow is better than rushed. I love this and many more things about him.
Slow was my walk down the long and narrow isle on my wedding day as I smiled and refused to cry.
Slow were the days of my honeymoon in Italy because we hadn't a care in the world but to be blissfully in love.
Slow was my first labor because I remember every detail of it.
Slow were the days that followed becoming a mother of two. While it was overwhelmingly consuming, I can still remember the scent of my colicky newborn and hear the little voice calling out, "mama", from my sweet 20 month old while she sat and waited for me in her highchair. A difficult and guilt infused memory for me, nevertheless.
Slow were the days that I watched my older two fall in love with their newborn baby sister, my third daughter. As they admired and kissed her little face, my heart swelled with joy times three.
On this wonderful day, slow is the gift that I've been given and an exceptional man is the one I am celebrating. Happy Birthday to my one and only love...
Slow holds bitter and sweet but slow is still better than rushed.
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