Dear Moms of Littles; It Gets Different... Maybe Better...

Photo by Bruno Nascimento on Unsplash

It seems as though I’ve spent the last eleven years of motherhood yearning for my children to leave me alone and play quietly somewhere else for a little while so I could get something done. I’ve ached for a minute alone. I’ve begged and negotiated. I’ve bribed and cajoled. I’ve given them more screen time than the recommended amount just to get a little cleaning, a little writing, a little phone call, a little time alone... And I’m here to tell you that those days end.

I know. I didn’t believe it myself when it started happening.

But there comes a time when the amount of time spent wiping the things lessens. You guys, my kids just go play quietly in the basement for hours now. Sure, there is the occasional shouting match or injury, but they’ve been down there for the past 2 hours now playing “Marble Football” and other games they invented with a hundred tiny drawings and headbands and dice and other things I don’t understand.

And I have time to fold clothes, do dishes, write. But I don’t.

Mostly I feel lost, and I don’t have the words to write like I want to.  My motivation for folding socks is not as existent as you might think it would be.

Don’t get me wrong, I LOVE that my children aren’t attached to me constantly. I love that when they’re thirsty, they just get a cup and get themselves some water. I love that they wipe their own butts and noses (mostly), tie their own shoes, pack their own lunches, and pick out their own clothes.

I am just not yet used to this space that says, “You have some time now to do those things that used to get interrupted constantly. Go ahead. Live out your dreams. Be a writer. Finish that project. Go poop or shower alone, for heaven’s sake.”

But when I begin to do those things, my mind cuts me off at every turn, saying, “You know you don’t have time to take care of that before they come upstairs/get home from school.” But I DO. I do have time. I just spent so many years giving up on my ability to accomplish all the things that I got used to telling myself I didn’t.

The most difficult thing, though, is all of a sudden, I have to shift my brain from “Can you physically disconnect your hand from me for 5 minutes?” to “How do I connect with this eye-rolling child who thinks I’m overprotective if I ask him one question?” It’s a whole different parenting challenge, my friend.

Please do not be fooled. I am not a “You’re going to miss them being little someday” person. I am not your mother-in-law. Nor am I that old lady in the grocery store telling you how these are the best days of your life. I don’t have a crystal ball, and I will not presume to know how you will feel about the days of life with little children. And I honestly don’t miss the baby/toddler stage one bit.

I just simply want to say, "Heads-up, Mama. There’s this weird stage that you’re dying for right now. It’ll get here… maybe a few months from now, and maybe a few years, but it’s coming. And when it gets here, it might be amazing, but it’s okay if you feel lost for a while. If you feel lost, you’re not alone. If you flounder around for a while getting used to your own skin again, that’s okay. If you miss your kids being little, that’s cool. Grieve it. If you’re looking forward to the next phase because pimples, puberty, drama, and hormones are your jam, that’s awesome. But just know that after you wipe up all of the poop, there’s going to be a new weird stage of life with kids, and it’s normal for it to be hard… even if you LOVE this stage like I do. You’ve got a sisterhood of moms out there going through it with you, and we’re cheering for you."

Godspeed, Dear Mama, whatever stage you’re in.