Dear friends who often remind me, “The days are long, but the years are short”:
I appreciate your sentiment, but I need to share something important with you. You seem to have forgotten just how lengthy these days can truly be.
You’ve overlooked the chaotic mornings of new parenthood—waking up at 5:03 a.m. to a child demanding breakfast and their favorite show. You get out of bed, prepare the meal, and then spend what feels like an eternity deciphering their intricate requests. You hop through all the hurdles, adding just the right amount of peanut butter and honey, serving it in the preferred yellow bowl with the red spoon. Only to hear, “Mom, I want cereal instead!”
You’ve forgotten.
You’ve overlooked those moments where you can’t even recall the last time you gazed into a mirror. That by 4 p.m., you realize the breakfast remnants are stuck to your yoga pants, which you’ve been wearing since Tuesday. Your hair is unkempt because the baby’s been teething, your partner has been working late, and you haven’t had a spare second to focus on yourself.
You’ve forgotten.
You’ve neglected what it’s like to communicate in snippets, never finishing a sentence or thought. Your attempts to connect with fellow adults end up feeling scattered and incomplete.
You’ve forgotten.
But now that I’ve expressed my feelings, it’s your chance to respond. I know what you’ll say. Because you’re right—I’m also starting to forget.
I know that one day, I’ll yearn for the days when my little ones were getting dirty in the backyard. But today, those muddy footprints are simply another chore to tackle before dinner—a meal I’ll spend time preparing that no one will enjoy.
You’re right; I’ve forgotten.
I’ve forgotten that one day, this baby who only wants to be held will grow into a child too cool to hug me in public.
I’ve forgotten that soon, I’ll have the freedom to dine out with my partner whenever I please. Yet, I’ll find myself missing the delightful interruptions of a child’s silly stories or impossible requests.
I’ve forgotten that one day, I’ll watch my children grow, pursue their passions, and eventually, they won’t need me the same way anymore. I’ll be overjoyed for them, but inside, I’ll feel a deep sadness as they venture out into the world.
Because there will come a day when no one asks for oatmeal with peanut butter or that quirky red spoon.
But today is not that day. Today was long, exhausting, and demanding. The children were needy and misbehaved, and that’s perfectly normal. That’s just part of motherhood.
Even in your dream job, you’re entitled to have challenging days.
“The days are long, but the years are short.” I know I’ll eventually appreciate your perspective, but today is not one of those days.
You’ve overlooked how truly lengthy these days can feel. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to strap a crying baby to my back while I mediate a toddler dispute over the Spiderman cup, tackle a mountain of laundry, and prepare a gourmet dinner that, spoiler alert, no one will eat. I’ll probably end up microwaving hot dogs at 8:47 p.m.
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Summary:
This heartfelt piece reflects on the long, exhausting days of motherhood contrasted with the fleeting nature of childhood. The author shares personal experiences of early parenthood struggles while acknowledging the bittersweet nature of these moments. The article emphasizes the importance of recognizing the challenges of everyday parenting.