Almost every day, I catch myself pondering, “Is it just me?” and I quickly reassure myself, “Of course not! But even if it were, who cares?” Lately, however, I’ve been reflecting on why my feelings differ from those of others around me. I scroll through social media and see countless posts with captions like “I miss my little ones!” or “Time, please slow down!” or “I wish I could go back!” While I enjoy a burst of nostalgia now and then, my first thought is usually, “How far back are we really talking?”
Yes, I have cherished memories of my children as infants, but I have no desire to relive those days. Do you want to revisit the sleepless nights spent anxiously watching your newborn for the slightest rise and fall of their chest? No, thank you. I’d much rather catch some Z’s. Or how about those days when my son would cry inconsolably for no apparent reason? Sign me up for that again—said no one ever!
I vividly remember one particularly exhausting day when my son was about four months old. After four hours of the eat, sleep, cry cycle, I was at my wit’s end! I decided to take him to the pediatric after-hours clinic, with my three-year-old daughter in tow. My mother had left a crisp hundred-dollar bill on my nightstand during her last visit, and I was ready to hand it over to anyone ahead of me in line just to get this baby to stop crying. So, do I have any desire to go back to that moment? Not at all.
I genuinely love that my kids are growing up — is that so wrong? I adore witnessing the individuals they are becoming. I cherish the way they navigate life and ask insightful questions. I appreciate how they’re developing their own opinions and tastes, which may sometimes differ from mine.
I treasure the fact that my son can express how the medicine stings or that he feels nauseous. I also celebrate that when my daughter does throw up, she can aim perfectly into the toilet. Their ability to articulate what’s bothering them to a doctor is a huge relief. Plus, karaoke is way more fun these days!
I’m genuinely excited about my daughter’s upcoming third-grade year. I wasn’t even sad when my son started pre-K; his enthusiasm was infectious, so how could I be? I see their eagerness for the journeys ahead, and I can’t help but join in on the adventure. Watching my kids grow, flourish, and embrace their milestones fills me with joy rather than sadness.
Ultimately, it’s their life, not mine. I can’t cling too tightly to something that doesn’t belong to me. I recently came across a quote that resonated with me: “To raise a child who is comfortable enough to leave you means you’ve done your job. They are not ours to keep, but to teach how to soar on their own.”
I appreciate this sentiment, just as I admire Elizabeth Taylor’s take on beauty: “I’ve never thought of my jewelry as trophies. I’m here to take care of them and love them, for we are only temporary custodians of beauty.” Of course, the thought of my kids heading off to college evokes a pang of sadness, but I wouldn’t dream of stifling their desire to explore the world. And, I’ll admit—each night when I say goodnight, I still give them a gentle nudge to feel them breathe. Old habits die hard.
As much as it makes me shudder to think about it, I am their temporary custodian; my role is to prepare them to shine brightly on their own. They are two of the most precious jewels in my life—brilliant, dazzling, and rare. They are temporarily mine to love and nurture until they are ready to dazzle the world.
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In summary, I embrace my children’s growth and celebrate their milestones. The journey of parenting is about preparing them to thrive independently, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.