Mornings in a house with three children under five are a delicate balance, a brief moment of order before the day spirals into chaos. I craft a semblance of routine under the cover of dawn, knowing full well it will soon unravel the moment the kids wake up. By evening, I find myself just as scattered, but those early hours are my sanctuary—my time to orchestrate the day with precision. First, coffee; then, assembling the kids’ lunches. I let the dog out, issuing a stern warning if she dares to bark, and finally, I slip into my seat at the kitchen table with breakfast and a moment of peace.
However, my “news” is a curated mix of social media highlights and fleeting glances at articles from The New Yorker—mostly for appearances. The last item on my agenda before fully engaging the day is checking TimeHop.
In theory, TimeHop serves as a delightful montage of our lives, akin to a charming slideshow at a rehearsal dinner that elicits smiles, laughter, and maybe a cringe or two at that hairstyle I once embraced. In practice, however, it can feel like an emotional whirlwind, especially for me as the parent of a child with special needs.
Just a few years ago, TimeHop was a joyful stroll down memory lane. However, five years have passed, marked by countless days in the NICU, numerous therapies, fittings for leg braces, and a succession of wheelchairs, each one larger than the last—much like matryoshka dolls. In between those moments, we’ve celebrated first steps, first words, and first friends at school.
The experience of scrolling through TimeHop is reminiscent of playing slots in Vegas. Will I be greeted with a heartwarming image of my three kids holding hands during a wagon ride last spring, or will I be reminded of the NICU room where our son spent the first two months of his life? Perhaps I’ll see his triumphant moment standing tall with his physical therapist, or maybe I’ll recall the trains that captivated him while we awaited a pneumonia diagnosis. The stakes feel high, but the payoff is almost worth it.
Almost. Because every so often, TimeHop provides clarity that eludes me in my busy life. My son has never followed a typical timeline; he recognized the alphabet before he could speak and demonstrated an understanding of numbers and colors before he could walk. In a way, he is a time traveler, much like other kids with special needs.
We’ve learned not to confine them to conventional developmental charts; they are quantum leapers, moving through time in unpredictable ways. They represent the wormholes in the universe—offering insight into realms we can’t always access through logical thinking or the steady progression through life’s typical phases.
This is why I incorporate TimeHop into my morning routine. It starkly reminds me of our journey, helping me resist the temptation to wistfully gauge my son against a developmental timeline. It reinforces the notion that despite the randomness, there is a pattern of fate and chance guiding us.
TimeHop serves as a beacon, affirming that our path may not be straightforward, but it is leading to something significant—something worth celebrating. It whispers messages of hope from both the recent and distant past. But before I can fully absorb that wisdom, I need my coffee.
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Summary:
Navigating the complexities of parenting, especially with a child who has special needs, can be emotionally challenging. The TimeHop feature on Facebook serves as both a nostalgic trip down memory lane and an emotional rollercoaster, reminding parents of the highs and lows of their unique journeys. It challenges conventional timelines and celebrates the unpredictable nature of growth.