A Childhood of Thursdays

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A flamboyance of flamingos. A murder of crows. We collect these terms because they’re handy for trivia and it’s fun sometimes to just pull up and say “Hey, do you know what you call a whole bunch of groundhogs?” (It’s a coterie)

Today as I write this I am considering a Childhood of Thursdays. I’ve written before about how Max was born early and dramatically on Thursday, April 17, 2008. I had been at work the day before as normal, 28 weeks pregnant, not expecting anything to be different. And then I had a stroke while I sat at my desk. (You can read more about that story here.) He spent 91 days in the NICU, 50 miles from home, and we spent most of it terrified.

I started taking and posting a picture of him every Thursday from that first Thursday (actually snapped by my sister) and I stuck with it all the way through to Thursday#547 in 2018. I continued taking them, but didn't post because of life chaos. They're still in my archives (thank goodness for Google Photos!) but when the pandemic made time not mean anything, we just sort of lost track of it.

I do still occasionally calculate what Thursday we are or would be on, and I might snap a picture with the absolute intention of posting or sharing it or, you know, at least making a note that’s what it is, but time is as time does and a lot has happened between that last Thursday #547 in 2018 and today.

When I went to BlogHer in 2011, my blog was called Am I a Funny Girl? and the subhead was “I think I have my moments.” It was a tribute to Jamie, my then-boyfriend, who was and still is the funniest human I know in real life. Beaing able to make him laugh is one of the great pursuits of my life, even to this day.

When I rebranded in 2012, I knew that I wanted to incorporate the Thursdays into it; we were not even at Thursday #200 yet, but I was sure it was an important part of what this would be. And so “More than Thursdays” was born. While the Thursday photos were the throughline, there's lots more to it than just that.

I started writing this post on Thursday April 16, 2026. It is the last Thursday of Max’s childhood because tomorrow, on April 17, 2026, he turns 18. In six weeks, he graduates high school. In eight weeks, he leaves to work at summer camp all summer. In twelve, he starts college. This phase, this chapter of our parenting journey is over. I look back at this post, “You get 940 weeks” and I just can't believe this is where we are.

And just when I thought I was getting the hang of it, too!

As a mom who has always been online, I’ve watched the same questions roll down my feed with every new generation of parents. How do I survive this stage? I think my baby hates me. When does it get easier? What if I’m doing it wrong? Has this ever happened to you?

“Moms. Please tell me it gets better. I'm really struggling.”

The number of times I've posted the same things. “The first year is about survival, make sure baby is safe and take care of yourself. You got this.” “It's totally normal, sometimes baby just needs a walk around the block or a drive in the car. Roll the back window down just a little bit for white noise, it always made my son fall asleep.” “You're in the thick of the hard part. Hang in there, we're here for you.”

“This is my favorite age. I've been able to say this every time someone asks. Every age has its ups and downs and challenges and joys, you just have to look for them.”

The first time Max told us a joke he (thought he) made up. The first time he laughed at his own fart. The first time he said “I love you, too” instead of just mimicking our “I love you.” The day he learned how to load the dishwasher. The first morning he didn't run into our bedroom on a Saturday weekend, for snuggles. The first drawing that didn't need a detailed explanation of what that mass of colorful lines meant. The last time I was able to pick him up and carry him.

We still have some firsts and lasts to come. He won't hold my hand crossing the street, but he'll let me loop my arm through his. He still calls us Mommy and Daddy, although not so much in public as at home. He still has Blue Dog and Pizza Blanket, and as a 48 year old who still has a blankie, I will never complain.

His first day of college, his first car, his first job.* Moving out, coming home, the first time he offers to take us somewhere and he pays. His first heartbreak. His first college degree.

*He did work last summer and this one at summer camp and got paid, but I'm talking about a regular day job, not professional summer camper.

Here I am now, looking back at the 18 years I've been in this game, and here's what I can definitively say:

There are no absolutes. There are no plans.
We're all going by the seats of our respective pants.

I guess I can say that I'm “lucky,” in that Max made it clear who was in charge and that plans mean nothing, when he showed up three months early and nearly killed me in the process. There are silver linings, now that I can look back. My birth plan couldn't go off the rails, because I didn't have one. I didn't know what the hospital was or wasn't supposed to do, or amenities offered, because we had yet to take the expectant parents tour. (Not that I'm still bitter about not getting the special “new parents dinner” thing)

I started taking Thursday pictures because of a moment of clarity in the first days of Max's life. I sat next to his isolette, two fingers resting on his back, because we couldn't hold him without assistance, and stroking caused too much friction for his fragile skin.

Someday, this will be a blink. A speedbump at the start of the long road.

They were telling us to expect three to four months in the NICU, but I knew even then that someday, it would feel like nothing. Like a moment. Focusing on the Thursdays let me count down. I knew it would only be thirteen or fourteen Thursdays, and then he'd be home. Our new life as Team Porter, us three, could begin.

I never “figured out” parenting, I just took it one Thursday at a time. This one, and then the next.

And it doesn't stop here. While a Childhood of Thursdays may be a closed chapter, it's just the start of the next one.

Regardless of words and weeks and life and all it brings, here's what I know for sure: Kids change, love grows, and the weeks just keep on marching, whether you're ready or not.