By: Mia Thompson
Updated: Aug. 21, 2015 | Originally Published: May 25, 2014
Here’s a little confession: the smallness of my daily life sometimes gnaws at me from the inside out. Why aren’t I doing more? Why aren’t I seeing more, or being more for others? My days can feel suffocating, tied down by my relentless obligations to my beloved, yet burdensome children. They seem to consume every ounce of my time, attention, and energy until there’s hardly anything left for me.
I remember the thrill of getting out. Just four days after my C-section, I walked home from the hospital—at a snail’s pace, mind you, but I was out. A week later, I pushed my pristine stroller over a mile to reach the vibrant heart of town. I dragged my weary body toward the buzz of life that I so desperately missed.
Now, venturing out with my three little ones feels like a monumental task—a chore. The effort required is daunting. Choosing outfits for the weather, locating six individual shoes scattered around the house, packing snacks, and reminding everyone to use the bathroom before we leave. I often catch myself wondering, is it really worth it? The answer used to be a resounding yes, but now, there’s a nagging voice urging me to just stay in. It feels easier some days. I often find myself focusing solely on those three faces, those delightful yet demanding little beings.
Once upon a time, I thrived in bustling cities. I commuted daily to Times Square via subway and returned to my cozy little apartment in downtown Manhattan, where my windows faced another window. I could step outside for a cupcake or sushi at a moment’s notice, always surrounded by the vibrant chaos of city life. Now, my feet are grounded, chasing after balls or boys, tending to these small humans on our little plot of earth.
There are moments when I look up at planes flying overhead, and I can’t help but reminisce about my former life as an aviation attorney. I recall spontaneous trips to New Hampshire just to share lunch with my college boyfriend, the pilot.
This past summer, I took on a job at an overnight camp, working in the office at the far corner of the grounds. Behind the scenes by day and bunk-bound at night, I felt a little disconnected from the world around me. But one evening, as I sat on the porch cradling my middle child, a thick, quiet calm enveloped us. While the rest of the camp was glued to a much-anticipated play, my son’s bright blue eyes locked onto mine before he nestled into my neck. In that moment, I realized—it was time to focus on what truly matters.
It’s time to mean a lot to a little rather than a little to a lot. To fill my days with these small people, hold them close, and create a safe environment. To cultivate our corner of the earth, becoming indispensable to a few rather than a fleeting acquaintance to many. These are the years of immersion. We hunker down, mastering the minutiae and the mundane. We memorize the creaks in the floorboards, perfect the nightlight’s angle, and pay attention to their favorite foods and the freckles on their faces. Our lives revolve around toys and toddlers, often hidden from the outside world.
Once, I walked freely with hands outstretched. Now, my arms are full, always busy with the needs of my children. My eyes dart around, ensuring everyone is present and safe. My pockets are stuffed with their treasures, my plate is filled with their leftovers, and my bed is a cozy nest for their restless bodies. This is who we are now. And someday, when it’s over, we will look back and cherish these moments, longing to relive them.
Eventually, we will reemerge into the world. But for now, let’s find meaning in the smallness of our lives, delighting in these everyday moments that connect us. Just remember, I’m right here with you, shining a light from my tunnel to yours.
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Summary:
Parenting can feel overwhelming, with the demands of young children often leaving little room for personal fulfillment. The author reflects on the transition from a busy city life to the quieter, more insular world of motherhood. Despite the challenges, there is beauty in the small moments shared with children, emphasizing the importance of being deeply connected to a few rather than superficially engaged with many. The piece encourages readers to find significance in these everyday experiences.