I was thinking about ages and stages today, courtesy of Staci’s post on the subject, and remembered a conversation I had years ago. Abigail was maybe two, and I was explaining to a woman whose children were already grown that I was enjoying each new stage of child development better than the last.

“There hasn’t been a stage I didn’t like,” I told her, “I just like the new one better every time.” (More independence, more development, more fun. This seems perfectly reasonable to me, even now.)

She looked more than a little horrified. “Oh no!” she exclaimed, “When my children were small, I was always sad to leave a stage behind. Always.”

“So you were always… miserable?” I asked, incredulous.

“Yes,” she reassured me. “That’s how I knew I was enjoying their childhoods.”

I see the logic, but I don’t think I have the emotional energy for that particular strategy.