What if these are the best days of your life?
I can't stop mourning the loss of moments that haven't even happened yet.
A few months ago, I was at the grocery store with my 5-year-old, who was jumping with excitement over spotting one of the elusive shopping carts that doubles as a vehicle.
As I struggled to lift him into the police car cart, a woman approached us, smiled, and said, “You’re going to miss this one day, I promise.” She explained she had just finished having lunch at a restaurant with her teenage son and remembered him at my son’s age like it was yesterday.
“It really does go by so fast,” she said, staring at my son with a mix of joy and sadness on her face.
I used to internally roll my eyes a bit at these types of comments. It goes by in a flash! Enjoy every minute! When every day with littles can feel like an eternity, it’s hard to fully grasp the passage of time.
But now that my boys are 8 and 5, I find I’m constantly grieving the end of their childhood, even though I’m very much still in the thick of it.
I hear the way my youngest mispronounces some words, and then I panic that he’ll soon lose his “baby voice” completely. The other day, my oldest told me he was too big for me to hold his hand while crossing the street, prompting me to squeeze his hand even harder, worrying if I let go he’d stop needing me.
I crave time alone, without my kids, in an almost desperate way. I am perpetually overstimulated, overwhelmed, and burnt out from taking care of them. But I also feel physically unwell when I think about them one day not living with me, not always knowing where they are, not being their #1 person for anything and everything.
I want them to grow, thrive, become independent, and do all the amazing things I know they’re going to do. But watching that reality begin to unfold is also painful in a way I didn’t expect.
It all feels so bittersweet.
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As a deeply nostalgic person, I often mourn moments before they’re even gone. I’d love to be a zen Buddha type, grounded in the present, but that isn’t my calling. I’m more of the filled-with-existential-dread type.
I recently found my eldest’s first walking shoes at the back of my closet—those little slipper moccasin shoes that toddlers wear when their feet are still developing. Holding them in my hands, I was instantly transported to those first glorious steps.
He was a “late” walker at 18 months, and I worried about him hitting that important milestone. Now he can’t stop running, always on the move, quick as lightning.
It’s all so fast.
Wasn’t it just yesterday he wore these miniature brown suede slippers I’m looking at?
Blink and you’ll miss it! That’s what they say.
We never know when it’s the last time something will happen. The last time we change a diaper. The last time we sleep on their floor. The last time we give them a bath. The last time we push a stroller. These things just disappear without warning, and I hate it. I want a warning! I want sirens and flashing lights and someone screaming at me: PAY ATTENTION!
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I like to inflict a form of self-torture where I go down a rabbit hole of nostalgia and heartache as I scroll through old videos and photos of my kids as babies. Eventually, I force myself to put the phone down when I realize how depressed it’s making me. The days I thought would never end are now just memories in the cloud (note to self: figure out a better solution for backing up photos).
And before you tell me to practice gratitude and be thankful for my blessings rather than feel so darn melancholy… I do and I am! Duh! I know I’m fortunate and blessed and grateful and yadda yadda yadda. Fine. It helps for maybe a few seconds. And then I see a video of my firstborn feeding his baby brother with a bottle and I’m sobbing again.
I don’t have a solution for the ache of watching your kids grow up. Ultimately, I think the pain is a good thing. It speaks to a strong bond and deep love, and it can make us more intentional about appreciating tiny moments. But it sure hurts like hell.
Years from now, I’ll probably be the person stopping a young mom with her preschooler at the grocery store to reminisce about when my kids were that age. She’ll brush it off and go on with her day, while her kid whines about wanting a specific flavour of ice cream that no one else in the family will enjoy. And I’ll think, man, she has no idea that these are some of the best days of her life.
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We keep a list of all the adorable ways our three year old mispronounces words for posterity. It’s ok to be tired and not appreciate EVERY moment while still grieving the loss of who your kid once was and also welcome who they are becoming.
This was beautiful ♥️
My kids are 7 and 3. I feel like this a lot. Constantly in the thick of things, but sad that they are growing so fast!