As a new mom, I wholeheartedly devoted myself to my little ones. Every ounce of my energy and every moment of my time went into motherhood, believing that this overwhelming feeling of self-sacrifice would soon lighten.
In those early days, especially with my first child, I was filled with anxiety. It was over a decade ago, and I found myself agonizing over the smallest choices. Motherhood felt monumental, as if I had just discovered a brand-new world that I needed to share with everyone. I wanted to scream, “You won’t believe how much work this is!” to anyone who would listen, even to seasoned parents who obviously understood.
My home transformed from a pristine, visitor-ready space into a chaotic play zone filled with toys. My days were consumed with doctor’s appointments, playdates, meal prep, cleaning, laundry, grocery runs, and trying to squeeze in work-from-home tasks because I felt guilty not contributing financially. It was all-consuming, but I told myself that this was just a phase. I thought that once the babies were older, I would have time for friends, hobbies, and even my own health. Surely life would slow down.
Well, I was mistaken.
Yes, I’ve emerged from the baby years, and I reclaim my body, now free from the demands of constant breastfeeding and toddler clinging. Yet, I hardly recognize this body—it’s as if I returned from a long absence only to find my surroundings completely changed. My busyness has morphed rather than diminished. My children have become more independent; they can handle feeding themselves, doing their own laundry, and cleaning their spaces. But the hustle continues in a different form.
I thought that as my kids aged, things would become easier. Nope. I’m still just as busy, and I still struggle to get enough sleep. My skincare routine is a rushed affair, often sacrificed for a few extra minutes of sleep. My legs? Let’s just say they’ve taken the hit for my lack of time management.
While my home may not be littered with LEGOs anymore, it’s now a mess of cups in their rooms and random wrappers scattered throughout. I can’t keep up with the chaos.
And then there’s the driving. I marvel at parents with more than two kids—how do they manage the daily demands? We carpool for school, which helps, but the endless activities are overwhelming. I want my kids to be involved, but I feel like a taxi service. Thankfully, I work remotely, so I can juggle my laptop while shuttling them around.
As my kids have gained independence, my worries have expanded too. Once, my concerns revolved around sleep schedules and dietary choices—now, I’m anxious about my teenage son’s friendships and his social life. Communication has become a challenge, and I often learn about conflicts in his friend group from other parents.
I wonder why he doesn’t confide in me. Is he doing okay? Does he care about his grades? Is he as kind as I’ve tried to teach him to be? And for my daughter, I question whether she feels as confident at school as she does at home. I hope she understands that she doesn’t need to conform to societal beauty standards. And then there’s college—will they get accepted, and have we saved enough to support them?
The truth is, I still dedicate myself to my children just as much as I did when they were tiny. I’m always ready to drop everything when they genuinely need me (not for a snack—they can handle that themselves). They may not be babies anymore, but they still occupy my thoughts and time, even as I attempt to complete tasks on my laptop.
Currently, I find myself in a strange place: feeling that time is slipping away and wanting to cherish every moment with them, while simultaneously realizing I’ve been in this parenting journey for 13 years and I’m exhausted. I crave a professional massage and the chance to take a painting class.
Moments of panic hit me as I think about the adventures I want to embark upon and whether my body will still be able once my kids leave home. Yet, I can’t shake the feeling of not wanting them to leave. Sure, it would be nice if they picked up after themselves, but I love these kids and the thought of them flying the nest is bittersweet.
Parenting didn’t become easier; it merely became busier and more complex. The stakes are higher now, but with the added complexity comes a richer life. Each day, I see my kids inch closer to independence, but paradoxically, I find myself less sure about wanting them to leave. Ultimately, nothing truly got easier—but that’s okay, because this life is undeniably rich.
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Summary
In conclusion, the belief that parenting would become easier as children grew older is a common misconception. Instead, the journey often grows busier and more complex, filled with new challenges and worries. While independence brings some relief, it also heightens concerns about their social lives and futures. Ultimately, the richness of family life replaces the simplicity once expected.