To all those who say, “The days are long, but the years are short”:
I understand your intentions are good. However, I feel compelled to share my perspective with you.
You seem to have overlooked just how lengthy these days can truly be. You’ve forgotten what it’s like during the early stages of motherhood—waking abruptly at 5:03 a.m. to a toddler demanding oatmeal and their favorite show. After rising to prepare breakfast, you face the challenge of interpreting a series of toddler directives for the next 12 minutes. You meticulously fulfill their requests, including the necessary peanut butter and honey, serving it all in the yellow bowl with the red spoon—only to hear, “Mom, I don’t like this. Can I have cereal instead?”
You’ve forgotten.
You’ve forgotten the moment you finally sneak away to the bathroom at 4 p.m., only to realize it’s the first time you’ve seen your reflection all day. The remnants of that early morning oatmeal are smeared on your yoga pants, which you’ve worn since Tuesday, and your hair feels unkempt due to a teething baby and a spouse working late. There hasn’t been a moment to tend to yourself.
You’ve forgotten.
You’ve forgotten the struggle of never completing a sentence or thought, living your life in fragmented snippets, trying to engage with adults while never fully articulating a message.
You’ve forgotten.
Now that I’ve expressed what’s on my mind, it’s your turn to respond. I’m aware of what you’ll say, because it’s undeniably true.
I know—I’m forgetting as well. I’m forgetting that one day I’ll long for the days when my little ones get muddy playing outside, even when it feels like just another chore to tackle before dinner—a dinner that I’ll spend an hour preparing, only to have no one eat it.
You are correct. I did forget. I forgot that this needy little face, who only wants to be held by me, will soon grow into a boy too cool to hug his mom in public.
I forgot. I forgot that one day, I’ll have the freedom to dine out with my partner every night if I choose. Yet, I’ll find myself yearning for the joyful interruptions of a child, asking for the impossible or sharing a silly story.
I forgot. I forgot that I’ll witness my children grow up, get married, and chase their dreams. They won’t need me in the same way anymore. I’ll feel immense pride for them, yet inside, I’ll grieve as I see them walk across that stage or fly away to new adventures.
Because they won’t need me as they used to. One day, no one will ask for oatmeal with peanut butter or that quirky red spoon.
But today is not that day. Today was long, exhausting, and filled with challenges. My children were demanding, misbehaving, and far from perfect. And you know what? That’s perfectly fine. That’s the reality of motherhood. Even in your ideal career, tough days are still allowed.
“The days are long, but the years are short.”
I assure you, there will be many more instances when I’ll want to hear your insights about the fleeting years, but today is not one of those times. You’ve forgotten how lengthy these days can truly feel.
Now, please excuse me as I secure a crying baby to my back while diffusing a toddler dispute over a Spiderman cup, folding what feels like an endless mountain of laundry, and preparing a gourmet meal. Spoiler alert: no one will eat it, and I’ll likely end up reheating hot dogs at 8:47 p.m.
For further insights on family-building options, you might explore this excellent resource. If you’re looking for more ideas on home insemination, check out this post. And if you’re in need of an at-home insemination kit, here’s a trusted source to help guide you.
In summary, the days as a parent can feel interminable, filled with countless tasks and demands, yet the years seem to pass by in the blink of an eye. It’s a balancing act between cherishing these moments and recognizing the challenges that come with them.