Dear Fellow Mom,
I want you to know that I once stood in your shoes, and I truly understand where you are right now. Picture yourself kneeling down, cradling a colorful, heavily bandaged baby against your chest, while your 3-year-old weeps over the sight of earthworms. You gently explain, “They come out of the ground when it rains, and sometimes they drown, which is sad and scary.” Your little one nods, sniffling, “And they smell too.”
As you share this moment, you glance up to see my daughter, a sixth grader, walking by. She’s currently shining in her role as Ralph Rackstraw in the school’s production of HMS Pinafore. In that instant, she might as well be towering above everyone, like a queen tossing candy from a parade float. Your child knows her name—I can hear him excitedly whispering it to you as she passes.
You look my way, and I offer a friendly smile. But I wonder if I appear to you like a jack-o’-lantern or perhaps a witch, my features sagging and my skin weathered with age. Instead of a baby, I now have two grown daughters, and where there was once milk, there’s now the reminder of aging. If you look too closely, you might even think my uterus could just tumble out like a tumbleweed.
As you greet your friend who has a similarly bundled baby, I can picture the scene: a lively parking lot filled with chatter about sippy cups and sleep schedules. Someone may even crack a joke about sneaking tequila into the playgroup. You won’t be in a hurry to leave, unless your little one spots you from the nursery window—then it’s a whole new adventure of tears.
When I say goodbye to my daughter, I lean down just enough to kiss her cheek, which is so vibrant and full of life, already showing hints of her teenage years. I climb into my car alone, fastening my seatbelt, and drive off in silence to a café, where I’ll spend my morning writing (just me). No one will request a lukewarm vanilla milk, nor will I have to share my scone with a little one darting to the trashcan at every distraction. I won’t leave the café apologizing to anyone for the noise we made, and I won’t have to rush back for half-day preschool, which always seems too early and yet somehow still conflicts with nap time.
Meanwhile, you’ll whisk your little ones home for Annie’s Mac and Cheese (with peas!) and a cozy afternoon nap before heading to a nearby farm. You’ll marvel at the daffodils and bees, enjoying the gentle spring breeze. Your son will gaze wide-eyed at the goats and miniature horses, reaching for your hand in pure excitement. You’ll cherish wrapping your fingers around his tiny hand, inhaling the sweet scent of your baby’s hair as she squeals with glee.
You might find yourself wondering if life will always feel this slow and delightful. As you ponder what the older moms do, remember we might just be enjoying a glass of wine while the kids help with the salad. You might also be curious if you’ll still have to bend down all the time, and if you’ll miss these sunlit days filled with innocent wonder. Trust me, we do. We absolutely do. It’s not the colds or the snowsuits we miss, but the intoxicating scent of a baby’s head—freshly woken or nestled against us while we read a cherished story. One day, you’ll sneak in just to bend down and savor that familiar scent of your child, even as they grow.
You may not believe it now, but in time, you will.
Warmly,
A Fellow Mom