When my first child was born, I began noticing the number of people who tell you to enjoy it while they’re young, that it’s the best age etc.
Funny enough, I heard it at almost every age: when they were little babies, then when they started running around laughing, then when they talked, then when they entered school, so on and so forth.
A good friend of mine just became a father and I told him this marvellous secret: every age is enjoyable. I loved it when they were born (oh, did I cry with joy), I loved it when they walked, when they talked [1], when they began going to school, and all along the rest of their path so far.
I loved it when they decided what they liked and didn’t like, I loved it when they started giving me their opinions about what to read (advice to young parents: when your ten-year old son hands you A Monster Calls with a very serious look on his face, take the book and read it), I loved it when they started typing on their computers and writing their own stories, when they painted and drew and took photos and sang and danced and laughed and cried and cuddled.
I cherish every moment.
And you know the funny thing about it? The same people I tell about it always have a spare threat: “Oh, but you haven’t suffered teenage yet”. Well, I’m in for the ride, and yay. Every day, yay.
