When B-Dogg was a colicky infant, I can remember everyone promising us that if we could survive his first three months of life the symptoms would cease. Upon hearing that news, I openly wept. I couldn’t imagine those looooong months passing. (Thankfully, we didn’t know it would take nine months for the problems to abate.)

Now six years later, I get that frosty feeling in the pit of my stomach that serves as a constant reminder that time is passing rapidly. Not only has my boy blasted through so many milestones, but my girl is rapidly catching up. This has resulted in the following epiphany:

Children are an Eighteen Year Gift.

Parents are the benefactors of eighteen years of learning, laughing, fighting, crying and most prominently, loving. We have a very brief window of opportunity to make a difference in their wee little lives.

Most days, I see my children as a cheerfully wrapped present with a jaunty bow embellishing the outside. It’s the days that I open that present to find a gigantic pile of dog poo that I dread most.

Luckily, those days are far outnumbered by the joyful ones.