Dear Fellow Mom,
I once stood in your shoes, and I assure you, it’s true. Right now, you’re crouched down, cradling a baby swaddled in colorful bandages against your body, soothing your 3-year-old who’s distressed by earthworms.
“They emerge from the soil when it rains,” you explain, “and sadly some of them drown.” Your little one nods, tears still glistening, and adds, “They also have a smell.”
As you comfort your child, my daughter strides by, a sixth-grader playing the lead role in a school performance. To your preschooler, she seems like a towering giant, regal and captivating, as if she’s tossing candy from a float atop a gleaming elephant. I notice your child whisper-shouting her name, and I smile warmly at you, though I worry my grin might resemble a jack-o’-lantern’s or even a witch’s, given the passage of time that has left me with a few more wrinkles.
Instead of a baby, I carry memories of sleepless nights; my body has changed in ways you might not yet comprehend. Meanwhile, you’re busy chatting with another mom, discussing sippy cups and sleep routines. A lighthearted joke about tequila at playgroup floats through the air, and you linger, savoring these moments—unless your child spots you and then it’s a whole different scene of tears.
I lean down to kiss my daughter goodbye, her face radiant and full of life, her long eyelashes framing wide eyes. After that, I’ll hop into my car, alone, driving to a café where I’ll spend the morning writing quietly—no need to order a lukewarm vanilla milk or share scones with a little one darting towards the trashcan. I won’t be rushing back to preschool, which ends bafflingly early at 11:30, just when the baby’s nap is supposed to start.
You’ll whisk your brood home for a comforting meal of Annie’s Mac and Cheese with peas, followed by a leisurely stroll to the farm. I can picture you marveling at the daffodils and the warm spring air, your child’s eyes wide with wonder as he grasps your hand. You’ll take in the scent of the baby nestled against you, who is all giggles and squirming limbs, as you enjoy the moment.
You might find yourself wondering if this tranquil pace is what life has in store. The thoughts of older moms will cross your mind—what do they do with their time? (We might be drinking wine while our kids help make salad.) Do they still bend down every moment? (We no longer do.) You’ll reflect on how much you adore this season—those sweet baby scents and the joy of the little things.
Believe me, one day you’ll find yourself sneaking in at night just to bend down and inhale that familiar scent of your sleeping child, even as they grow into teenagers. You’ll become one of those who bends down just because, unable to resist that connection.
You may not believe it, but it’s true.
If you’re navigating this journey, consider checking out resources like Intracervical Insemination and Make A Mom for guidance. For fertility-related inquiries, UCSF’s fertility insurance FAQ can be an invaluable resource.
In closing, cherish these moments, even as they seem fleeting, because they shape who we are as mothers.