I remember spotting them as they strolled by the playground, never actually engaging in the chaos of it. They seemed so carefree with their upper elementary and middle school-aged kids, effortlessly navigating life. Often, I’d glimpse them laughing with fellow SMOK friends while their children either dashed ahead or lagged behind, clearly independent. There were no strollers in tow, no tiny hands to hold as they crossed the street, and no frantic searches through diaper bags for tissues or Band-Aids. They carried only fashionable totes, perhaps with a baguette peeking out. I dubbed them Smug Moms of Older Kids (SMOKs), and I couldn’t stand them.
If I got close enough, I’d catch snippets of their conversations. Unlike the toddler negotiations I was drowning in—filled with tantrums and the mundane “uh-huh” exchanges—the SMOKs were discussing Broadway shows and school projects that their kids managed on their own. Meanwhile, I was half-heartedly pushing a swing and dealing with preschool drama, wishing I could just Go Go Squeeze my eyeballs out of frustration. When our eyes met, I’d attempt to discreetly brush off crumbs from my hair or apply some lip gloss, thinking “I’m a mess! Look away!” Yet, part of me couldn’t help but think, “Good for you, lady. Your kids are growing up. Well done.”
Can you hear my slow, sarcastic applause? Clap. Clap. Clap.
Oh, how I detested these moms! Yet, I envied them deeply. They were simply women who embarked on their motherhood journey years before I did, and now they had reached a destination I dreamt of—a place where they’d never have to share a bathroom stall again. In this coveted realm, kids could blow their own noses and make their own breakfasts. A place devoid of tantrums, where no one needed to reassure themselves with affirmations like, “I’m still me! I’m still a person!”
When you’re in the thick of motherhood, it’s easy to forget that you still exist as an individual.
Now, as I approach 50, my children are nearly 9 and 12 years old. Somewhere along the way, I’ve transformed into the very kind of SMOK I once resented. If I see you, a Mother of a Small Child (MOSC), in a public restroom changing a diaper, I’ll look away—because, yikes. If I spot you with your snotty toddler in a coffee shop, I’ll pick a seat as far away as possible. It’s a strange twist of fate, feeling that “There but for the grace of God go I” sentiment, because I’ve been there.
Maybe you’re enjoying life with your little ones! Perhaps you watch me—seeing me out in the neighborhood, child-free—and think how lucky you are to have those precious, sticky little beings who rely on you for everything. Maybe you relish in slicing grapes in half and wiping bottoms that aren’t your own. You might even believe I’m lonely when my kids are off with friends (SMOKs don’t call them “playdates” anymore) and that I spend my time pondering menopause… and maybe I do!
But oh, how I love sending my 12-year-old to the store. I appreciate not needing a babysitter for a quick dinner with my husband. I enjoy weekend afternoons where I can grab a book and read for an hour—just me, with a book of my choice. I relish never having to set foot in a playground again just to fill time. And I love hearing about all the exciting things my kids are doing without me, while sharing my own stories with them.
For some moms, embracing their current phase of motherhood serves as a coping mechanism. If that works for you, fantastic! But it didn’t quite work for me back at the playground. I think it’s okay to admit that I’m now better suited for this stage of motherhood than I was for the earlier one. Perhaps that’s why those SMOKs irked me so much—they had what I longed for. And it wasn’t the baguette.
I now have plenty of SMOK friends. Occasionally, one will catch a whiff of a baby and joke, “I wish we could go back.” To which I respond, “No, you don’t,” and she’ll agree, “Yeah, you’re right. I don’t.” That’s what we laugh about as we stroll past the playground.
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In summary, I once found myself envying those seemingly carefree moms of older kids, but now that I am one, I’ve come to appreciate the freedoms and joys that come with this stage of motherhood. It’s a journey filled with laughter and reflection, and I wouldn’t trade it for anything.