You’re Gonna Miss This


You’re gonna miss this
You’re gonna want this back
You’re gonna wish these days
Hadn’t gone by so fast
These are some good times
So take a good look around
You may not know it now
But you’re gonna miss this

Trace Adkins, “You’re Gonna Miss This” 


I’ve never been a dweller in the past. I steamroll ahead. I’m not even sure I focus on the present because I’m so focused on the future. Then my son turned five. And for the first time possibly in my life. I looked back. 

I looked back to July 27, 2014, 11:30 a.m. when I sat down after the closing song at worship services and realized my water had broken. I was 36 weeks pregnant walking down the center aisle with a waterfall cascading down my legs — and as I learned later, one of my best friend’s husband’s legs. 

I looked back to July 27, 2014, 9:00 p.m. when I finally gave in to an epidural, having been stuck at 3 cm for over 9 hours. It didn’t work the first time. Wes had to walk out distraught, where my sister had brought him some chicken strips — only she’d eaten half of them.

I looked back to July 27, 2014, 11:59 p.m. where I kept him from coming out until midnight because I like even numbers better and wanted his birthday to be the 28th.

I looked back to July 28, 2015, when my precious boy turned one and I was so excited because I thought maybe he’d be able to do some things on his own. He didn’t.

I looked back to December 2015, where I filled out a questionnaire about his mental/physical progress at his 18-month checkup and was told he needed therapy.

I looked back to January 2015 when I decided to start sleep training him and, at the time, I was convinced it was the worst three months of my life.

I looked back to February 2015, when he decided to stand up on his own and voluntarily walk twp. days before the physical therapist got there for his first therapy appointment.

I looked back to December 15, 2016, my birthday, up at 2 a.m. making the decision to take him to the emergency room, because he couldn’t breathe. He ended up hospitalized with an oxygen readout of 80 percent — it was awful. I held him down while they gave him three breathing treatments in a row before finally hooking him up to oxygen because nothing was working.

I looked back to August 8, 2016, where he ignored his new baby sister and wanted to look at the ducks on my hospital bracelet.

I look back to July 28, 2019, where we went to Main Event and he had a blast bowling, playing glow gold and arcade games and told me happy birthday when he woke up that morning (even though it was his day).

But mainly, I look back to July 28, 2019, at 8:30 a.m. when he recited Acts 2:38 by heart for me on our way to worship.

He’s the best. And it’s been fun to look back on it. I’ll be less annoyed now when people tell me, “you’re gonna miss this.” Because for the first time since I delivered him, I believe them.