Time seems to be passing extraordinarily quickly. Maybe it’s that my baby changes every day and is growing out of her clothes. Just a couple days ago I thought a pair of pajamas would soon be too small and then, changing her in the middle of the night, determined that they were, as of that moment, too small.

Or maybe it’s the nature of spring, how it feels like it will never arrive and then is suddenly here in full bloom. I’ve just packed away my heavier between-the-seasons jacket and am fairly confident I won’t need to take it out again (have I now jinxed it?).

People say that time speeds up as you get older, which makes sense – there’s more life and experience to look back on. People also say that babyhood and childhood are gone in the blink of an eye. It ruffles my feathers a little to admit that many of the things people say about infants, specifically in terms of the first feelings and weeks and moments (I’m not yet at a point where I can attest to anything else), have turned out to be accurate.

Spring is a lovely time and I find it even more special now. A new person is blossoming as nature comes back to life. I will cherish both, rush neither, and try to gracefully accept what we all know to be true: To every thing, there is a season.