So here’s a crazy fact: my oldest will turn ten this week. (She’s not keen on the idea of sharing a birthday, so: new baby, please choose a day other than Sunday. How about today? Today’s nice…)

I am trying very hard not to be freaked out by this whole double-digits-birthday thing. I remember feeling the same way when she turned five, and seven, and, well, pretty much every age, but still. Ten is a big deal.

It’s not that I want her to stay small forever—I don’t. I love baby stages, but I think my kids get to be more fun and interesting and delightful every day. I wouldn’t want to turn that clock back for anything. But the years slip past so quickly, and there are so many things that I don’t want to leave undone.

Every birthday reminds me to pay attention, to be conscious, to spend our time wisely because it’s not nearly as infinite in supply as I think it is. But the daily-ness of life sets back in, and bit by bit I let the urgent overtake the important.

And then the next birthday arrives and I realize, with no small amount of guilt, that I need to reset my priorities yet again, that I need to restructure our days so that they accomplish what I intend, so that the way we live our lives and the words we exchange and the time we spend—so that all of those things together communicate love and hope and truth.

It’s not as easy as it sounds.

Plus we’re about to enter the vortex of newborn parenting wherein the appropriate priorities really do involve tending to urgent needs at the expense of everything else. But that will end, as such things always do, and we will pay attention again to how we spend our time. Because oh my goodness, it goes so fast. So very fast.