It’s a concept my husband and I have become pretty familiar with over the past six years. In the beginning there was a deluge of firsts of the conventional sort, the ones that everybody asks about and waits for with bated breath. There was the first tooth that forever did away with that gummy smile, the first steps that turned our home into a veritable minefield almost overnight, and the first words that stopped our hearts right in our chests.
Then eventually we moved onto what I consider to be the more magnificent firsts, the ones you don’t even know matter so much until they’re happening right in front of you. Our child’s first hole-in-one at mini golf, walking the streets of our old hometown with our kiddos for the first time, preparing the same treasured family recipe for my babes that my mother used to make for me. All of these were truly momentous. But eventually we noticed the pattern.
How could we not? Our penchant for appreciating achievements of the childhood sort was obvious to anyone with eyes. What’s more, our camera rolls and iPhoto events belied our insistence that our own lives hadn’t taken a backseat. But they had. Try as we might to lose those parent-colored glasses, it just never seemed to happen until we realized it would never happen on its own. Waiting for the day we had more time was tantamount to watching time just pass us by. So we found the time, and you know what happened?
Last weekend was another first for our family.
Last weekend we plucked our littles out of bed at 3AM and made our way into a sleepy Manhattan in the pre-dawn darkness. They awoke to the energy of runners all around us on Fifth Avenue, taking in all of their peculiar rituals and outfits as they got ready to race. We said goodbye to daddy as he headed for the starting line of the NYC Half Marathon and we made for the sidelines, banners out and bundled up. All this to watch him realize his goal, to see what commitment looks like up close- to show them that mommy and daddy still have firsts worth celebrating too.