The passage of time is relatively minuscule when taken geologically, a mere blip and yet in that blip we contrive to fit so much. Much of what we fit is repetitious but there are some fundamentals to our well being and amongst the most important is receiving lots of loving attention when we first look around at where we are. This discovery phase like no other needs the constant reassurance of a mother's care and her constant attention. It never ceases to amaze me the constancy of my daughters wrap around consciousness towards the babies needs. Men might drift off in their role of baby sitter, their mind adrift on other matters, a mother never so. The slightest sign of danger or some sort of mental tick and she's on to it, referencing her innate protective psych, a sort of genetic hardwired set of responses which men rarely possess.
For the child, the womb behind, the world unfurling at their fingertips, the child's self identification begins, advancing in leaps and bounds as it starts the hedonistic phase which for some never leaves them until, they too become a parent.
The issue of let him cry or should I sooth him by smothering him or her in cotton wool, the journey of bruised knees and bruised egos takes us into our twenties when responsibility is supposed to kick in. The thirties wedding bells, the forties mortgage and school fees, the fifties the university exodus from home and in the sixties the whole cycle starts again but this time you are an observer not daring to say too much lest your reminded you don't know what your talking about.
Everything is cyclical, what goes up must come down but it's a fact that our role and our route through life seems bound by so many conventions most of which we have no control.
I suppose a world without reference would be confusing. Our need for milestones is reassuring, if for no other reason, that we can tick them off and then ruminate, did we actually get it right.
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