It’s hard to pinpoint when it happened, but one morning I woke up to find that my kids were no longer babies or toddlers. They didn’t require me to pour their cereal or lift them from their cribs anymore. The days of dissolving pink syrup in the milk-filled sippy cups have vanished. Sippy cups have been replaced by forgotten remnants of my children’s earlier years, and the stroller in the trunk is now just a memory, overtaken by lacrosse gear. The sweet aroma of babyhood has transformed into the unmistakable scent of sweat, and the reminder to my 9-year-old that he really should shower (like, right now).
Last weekend, I found all four of my children in the house, each absorbed in their own activities. And surprisingly, it was quiet. Four kids—independent and serene. I couldn’t help but be amazed.
I turned to my husband and asked, “Is this really happening?”
His reply was blunt: “They’re not yours anymore.”
With a mix of disbelief and the urge to cry, I shot back, “Yes, they are.” Who asked him anyway? Yikes.
They still need me, but in a different way. My role has shifted into what I like to call “the other place.” I’m no longer in the thick of daily chaos—just like that.
Before any of them hopped on a school bus, I used to take them to toddler mornings at our local roller-skating rink. We’d drag along bikes, scooters, and even baby doll strollers. Yet, as soon as we entered, my child’s attention would immediately shift to the shiny new Big Wheel another kid was riding. It was a complete whirlwind, but we needed to get out of the house to survive those long winters.
The rink’s center was where everything unfolded—the nursing mothers, the tantrums, the relentless tears, and the falls of novice skaters. It was a chaotic hub where everyone’s hands were full. We shared knowing glances, reassuring each other that we weren’t alone in the struggle to leave the house, no matter how challenging that felt at the moment.
And then, on the outer edge, there was always a mom gliding effortlessly on roller skates. Her older children zoomed around, no longer needing her to hold them up. She was present, but more as a guiding presence than a necessity. Her hands were free, and she wore a smile. She had earned her place in “the other place.”
I never imagined I’d be that mom. But here I am.
When you’re entrenched in the chaos of motherhood—the tears at the rink, the grocery store meltdowns, the sleepless nights—it’s hard to believe that another phase exists. But I can assure you this: one day, you’ll find yourself in your home, surrounded by nothing but the sounds of nature outside. You’ll be able to finish a thought and sip your coffee while it’s still warm. And yes, it may feel unsettling. However, it will also be incredible. You’ll have earned this peace. You might even find yourself missing the noise, and that’s perfectly fine if you don’t.
You are still needed every single day. You remain the chef, the chauffeur, the laundry manager, the therapist, the mediator, and the ultimate locator of whatever your child has misplaced. You are still the queen bee—for life.
This outer ring has no end; it simply transitions into another layer, another experience. It’s easier in many respects, yet presents new challenges.
As much as motherhood can wear you down, it also builds you up. So wherever you find yourself in this journey, remember that it’s both hard and beautiful, and you will make it through. Somewhere out there is a mother who sees your current struggles and longs for just one day to relive that chaotic time. She misses the fullness of those moments, the laughter, the sweet scent of babyhood, and the hope that came with it all. This is the bittersweet essence of motherhood—a journey like no other.
Here’s to all the phases of motherhood. Here’s to us.
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Summary
Motherhood is a unique journey marked by phases of chaos and calm. As children grow, mothers transition from being the primary caregivers to becoming anchors in their lives. The beauty and challenges of each stage are undeniable, and while the noise of early motherhood may be missed, the quiet moments of reflection and independence are equally rewarding. Every mother is still needed, navigating the complexities of parenting while cherishing the memories of what once was.