Yesterday, when Luca woke up, the plan was to leave immediately for the zoo. He typically wakes up around 2 p.m., and we wanted to get as much time as possible there before it got too dark. I had everything ready—stroller, snacks, extra clothes, portable potty.
When he woke up, I walked into his room. He was peeking through his crib bars with a big smile and said, “Hi, Mama.” I smiled back, walked over, and asked, “Ready to get up?” To my surprise, he said no.
“Oh okay,” I said. “What would you like to do?”
He kept asking for “lastbil” (truck in Swedish). I scanned the room. There were plenty of “lastbils” scattered around the messy, toy-filled space.
I showed him a few options: the Lego truck, the train track truck, the big trash truck. None were right. Finally, I realized he wanted his sticker book with trucks.
“Alright,” I said, handing it to him. He opened it and launched into a full-blown conversation about the trucks. I glanced at the clock. It was 2:20pm. We were late.
But instead of rushing, I let it go. I walked into the kitchen, grabbed the glass of wine I’d put in the fridge for after the zoo, and sat down on the floor next to his crib. “Tell me about the trucks,” I said.
He talked. I listened. We laughed. My heart paused for a moment as I realized: this is what I live for. In the sea of challenges, tantrums, guilt, exhaustion, and tears, this—this is the moment that fuels me, that makes it all worth it.
Too often, I’m so caught up in the planning, the to-dos, the musts, that I miss moments like this.
We still made it to the zoo. We still had fun. We still had all the time we needed.