When my daughter was born, I was overwhelmed. A dear friend encouraged me to come over for coffee and a bit of adult conversation. As I pondered the monumental task of getting my three-year-old and newborn ready, she insisted, “Just bring them along! My kids are older, and I can handle the mess. You need a break!” So, I hastily put on my least stained shirt and piled my kids into the car, only for my son to proceed to create chaos in her living room while we sipped coffee and chatted.
As I left, I expressed my gratitude, and she warmly assured me, “Parenting is tough. I get it. You’re always welcome here.” Those mornings at her kitchen table became a lifeline for me, a time when I could escape the overwhelming feelings of motherhood. During those visits, she gave me invaluable advice that helped ease my anxiety. She suggested I tidy up in the mornings, take the kids out, preferably to her home, where I could let my toddlers run free. “Toddlers can’t wreak havoc in a house they aren’t in,” she said with a smirk. She was absolutely right. Our routine of morning outings became essential; we’d return home just in time for nap time. I craved fresh air and the company of another adult, and my kids napped far better after a busy morning.
Her simple act of opening her home to me, allowing me to relax without worrying about every little mess, made the exhausting early days of motherhood much more bearable. She understood the struggles of being a new mom, especially when it felt like everything was piling up. It was more important to her to support me than to fret over minor messes.
Now that my children have grown, I’ve adopted the same open-door policy for friends who are navigating the challenges of having little ones. I remember the fatigue that made even the simplest tasks feel monumental. I recall visiting homes that were meticulously decorated and hoping my toddler wouldn’t leave a trace of evidence behind. I understand the feeling of judgment when my child had a meltdown in a cafe, and I wanted to join him on the floor in that moment of frustration.
To all the moms in the thick of it, know that my kitchen table has a spot for you. And yes, I’ll have hot coffee or even a glass of wine ready for you—whatever you prefer. Don’t worry if you show up in your T-shirt backwards or inside out. Feel free to breastfeed at my table; you won’t be the first, and certainly not the last. If you need to catch some sleep while you’re here, bring your baby along. I’ll happily rock your little one while you take a moment to recharge.
It’s all too easy to forget the challenges of those early years, especially when you’re now basking in the glow of more independent teenagers. It’s also easy to judge when you’re at a distance from those chaotic days. Some people, like Amanda, might write articles declaring that kids aren’t welcome in their homes due to the chaos they bring. That’s her choice, but have we really reached a point where we can’t welcome friends with children because we’re worried about our pristine living rooms?
Honestly, I wouldn’t have felt comfortable at your place, Amanda, and I’m grateful for the friends who embraced my kids and welcomed the joyful noise of childhood. They didn’t fret over the mess; they were there to support me through the toughest parts of motherhood. So you can enjoy your perfectly curated home and uninterrupted conversations—my friends and I will be in my kitchen, bonding over coffee and indulging in Costco sheet cake while our kids enjoy a lively pillow fight.
For more on navigating motherhood and other helpful topics, check out our other blog posts like this one.
Summary
This post shares a heartfelt message to mothers of young children, emphasizing the importance of community and support during the challenging early years of parenting. The author reflects on the kindness of a friend who welcomed her and her children, and now extends that same hospitality to others. It highlights the need for understanding and acceptance among mothers, allowing for a more relaxed and supportive environment, and encourages openness to the joys and chaos that come with raising children.