Carrying my child for ten months was a journey marked by persistent nausea, sleepless nights, and an overwhelming fear of whether I would measure up as a parent. The physical weight of those thirty pounds paled in comparison to the emotional burden I felt.
In those early days, I managed just four hours of sleep each night, a reality that felt unending before my body adapted to the exhaustion. Those fragmented hours often left me struggling to maintain a coherent conversation or keep my eyes open while my newborn rested on my shoulder.
I frequently found myself thirty minutes late, regardless of how meticulously I planned. The forgotten items—be it a favorite book, a snack, or a lost shoe—were constant reminders that life with a young child rarely goes as intended. Each late arrival and frantic apology added to my anxiety about whether punctuality would ever be achievable again.
On my son’s first day of preschool, I stood for twenty minutes at the classroom window, aware that he was in capable hands yet heartbroken by his tears. He didn’t understand why I had left or if I would return, and that emotional weight was unlike anything I had ever experienced.
Now, with my boys in school, my house is empty for eight hours each day. The silence feels heavy, a stark contrast to the chaos of laughter, tears, and toy sounds that once filled those spaces. It’s not freedom; it’s a longing for the days when puzzles were sprawled on the floor and Cheerios littered the ground.
Nine years have passed since my son entered my life, and I am acutely aware that I have only nine more years before he embarks on his own journey.
In the early stages of parenthood, it often feels as though you’re pushing a boulder uphill, struggling against the dual forces of time and fatigue. Suddenly, you find yourself at a midway point, looking back at the fleeting moments of sticky fingers and mispronounced words. What once felt burdensome now transforms into cherished memories that pass in the blink of an eye.
To my dear friends navigating the challenges of raising babies and toddlers: those seemingly endless minutes filled with frustration will dissipate. They’re heavy, I know, but resist the urge to wish them away. You’ll reach the top of the hill before you even realize it.
Last night, my son asked me for just five more minutes of snuggling in bed. I could have easily declined—dinner needed to be made, laundry awaited, and it was getting late. But I chose to say yes—always yes. The time spent with him carries no weight at all when I’m wrapped under his blanket.
In the dim light, he whispered, “I don’t want to be nine. I don’t want to grow up.” In that moment, I recognized our shared experience at the peak of this hill—he too is caught between childhood and the rush to grow up. The burden of time weighs heavily on both of us.
So last night, I held him a little tighter. There was no rush to grow up in that moment. The world was still filled with wonder and magic, and we stood together at the top of the hill, not ready to descend just yet.
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In summary, parenting is a blend of fleeting moments and enduring memories. While the challenges can feel overwhelming, every second spent with a child is a treasure that shapes both their future and ours.