Dear friends who often share that “the days feel endless, but the years zoom past”:
I appreciate your intentions, truly. But today, I need to express something important.
You’ve likely forgotten just how long these days can stretch. You’ve overlooked the chaos of early motherhood—the experience of being jolted awake at 5:03 a.m. by a toddler demanding oatmeal and their favorite cartoons. You stumble out of bed to prepare the oatmeal, navigating through a maze of toddler demands that take an eternity. You jump through hoops, mixing in peanut butter and honey, serving it in the yellow bowl with the red spoon, only to hear, “Mom, I don’t like this. Can I have cereal instead?”
You’ve forgotten.
You’ve forgotten what it’s like to finally sneak away to the bathroom at 4 p.m. and realize it’s the first time you’ve seen your reflection all day. That the oatmeal smudges on your yoga pants—worn since Tuesday—are a badge of honor. You remember that you haven’t had a moment to care for yourself, with a teething baby and a husband working late.
You’ve forgotten.
You’ve forgotten how it feels to leave thoughts unvoiced, sentences unfinished. Your life becomes a series of fragmented exchanges with other adults, where no message is ever fully conveyed.
You’ve forgotten.
Now that I’ve shared my feelings, it’s your turn to reflect. And I know what you’ll say because it’s undeniably true.
I’m forgetting too. I’m forgetting that someday I will long for the days when my little ones are playing in the mud in the backyard, even when today’s muddy mess feels like just another chore before dinner—a meal I’ll spend an hour preparing that nobody will touch.
But you’re right; I do forget. I forget that this sweet baby, who clings to me now, will grow into a boy who might shy away from public hugs.
I forget that one day I’ll be able to enjoy dinners out with my husband, any night of the week if I so choose. Yet, I’ll find myself yearning for the joyous interruptions of a child sharing a silly story or an impossible request.
I forget that eventually, I’ll watch my children grow, pursue their dreams, and perhaps even marry. I’ll cheer for their accomplishments while feeling an ache as they walk further away from needing me.
One day, no one will ask for oatmeal with peanut butter in that silly red spoon.
But today? Today is long, exhausting, and often thankless. My children are needy, mischievous, and far from perfect. And that’s okay. That is the essence of life and motherhood at this moment.
Even in your dream job, hard days are part of the experience.
“The days feel endless, but the years fly by.” I assure you, there will be plenty of opportunities for me to engage in discussions about how quickly the years pass. Just not today.
You’ve forgotten how lengthy these days can be.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to strap a crying baby to my back, mediate a toddler dispute over the Spiderman cup, tackle a mountain of laundry, and whip up a gourmet dinner. Spoiler alert: it’ll likely end with microwaved hot dogs at 8:47 p.m.
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Summary
The journey of early motherhood is filled with long days and short years. While the chaos can feel overwhelming, it’s essential to acknowledge the fleeting moments and cherish them, despite the challenges.