Dear Fellow Mom,
I once stood where you are now, though you might find that hard to believe.
You’re crouched down, a brightly bandaged baby nestled against you, trying to soothe your 3-year-old who’s upset about earthworms. “They come out when it rains,” you gently explain, “and some of them drown, which is sad.” Your little one nods, still sniffling, “And they smell, too.”
As you share this moment, my daughter walks by, who is now a sixth grader. She’s vibrant, playing Ralph Rackstraw in her school production of HMS Pinafore, and for a fleeting moment, she seems like a giant, almost regal. Your child recognizes her, whispering her name with excitement as she passes.
You glance my way, and I offer a smile. I worry I might appear more like a jack-o’-lantern than a supportive mom, with my aging features and the remnants of babyhood long behind me. Instead of cradling an infant, I have two skinny girls, and my days of motherhood feel like a distant memory.
You greet a friend who has their own baby, and soon the parking lot is filled with laughter about sippy cups and the chaos of sleep schedules. Someone cracks a joke about needing tequila for playgroup, and you linger, savoring these precious moments—unless, of course, your little one spots you from the nursery window, and then it’s mayhem.
In contrast, I lean down to plant a kiss on my daughter’s cheek, now adorned with thick lashes and sharp cheekbones. I’ll climb into my car alone, buckle up, and head to a café to write in peace, without the sound of little feet chasing after a door or trash can. I won’t have to share my scone with a toddler who darts away at the slightest distraction.
You’ll whisk everyone home for some Annie’s Mac and Cheese (with peas!), followed by a leisurely stroll to the nearby farm, where you’ll marvel at the daffodils, the bees, and the clouds drifting by. Your son will gaze wide-eyed at the goats, holding your hand with wonder, while your baby squeals joyfully at the sight of the horses.
You’ll find yourself pondering dinner and whether life will always have this gentle pace. You might wonder about the older moms, like me, and what we do with our time. (We sip wine from actual glasses while the kids help with dinner.)
Do we still bend down for hugs? (Not often.) Do we miss the sweet smell of baby heads? Oh yes, we do. The scent of a little one fresh from a nap or snuggling close while reading a story—it’s a memory that lingers. One day, you too might find yourself sneaking in at night just to bend down and inhale that familiar scent of your child’s hair, that mix of childhood and nostalgia.
You may not believe it now, but trust me—it’s true.
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In summary, motherhood evolves from those early days filled with small worries to a stage where the challenges shift but the love remains constant. Embrace each moment, as they will pass quicker than you can imagine.