In the Blink of a Year: Motherhood, Time, and Awe

As my daughter inches closer to her first birthday, I find myself deep in reflection. How has a whole year flown by so fast? When people say “time flies” or “they grow up too quickly,” I can now physically see that truth. It’s as if the clock of life is ticking louder than ever before—and I can almost see the hands of an analog clock slowly counting down.

You should watch it's a decent movie

I think there’s a movie about that—In Time, with Justin Timberlake (don’t be fooled, I totally Googled the title while typing). But seriously, I get it now. Time has always moved fast. It feels like just three blinks ago I was at my middle school dance, excited to start high school and chase that first taste of freedom.

Freedom, as in: getting to take the bus and train to school on my own and not having to walk my siblings to school every morning.

Two blinks ago, I was packing my last bag with my mom to move into college.

But it hits differently when you’re watching time pass through your child.

One minute, I was having an identity crisis because—surprise—my uterus actually does work. There was a literal baby growing inside me. The next, I was being induced, then lying on an operating table, about to meet this tiny person for the very first time.

Meeting for the first time

And now? That same baby who once just slept and cried all day is babbling, feeding herself, and shamelessly robbing me of every snack and drink I hold dear.

They say life and death teach you about the value of time. But honestly, parenthood teaches you something deeper—something I still don’t fully have the words for. Through my daughter, I see time. Not just feel it—I witness it unfolding in real time through her tiny fingers, her laugh, her changing face, her bold little personality.

To be the mother of my firstborn daughter—as a firstborn daughter myself—is something I never imagined I’d experience. Watching her grow overnight leaves me in awe… of her, yes, but also of myself.

I’m in awe of the relationship between mothers and daughters. My own mother had me at a younger age, and thinking about everything I’ve panicked over at 29? I can’t help but admire her strength. She finished high school, raised me, and became the incredible woman I know today. I see now just how deep that well of resilience runs.

Yeah, that is mommy in high school

As I reflect on the cycle of strength in the women in my life, I feel immense pride. Pride that I get to pass on our lessons, our triumphs, and yes—our failures—to my daughter. This is one movie I’m honored to be a part of, front row, watching her become her own version of strength. Watching her set a new precedent for her generation—just as I’ve tried to set one for mine.