I am that mother - I am the many many mothers who came up to me when I had babies to say,

“You will miss this.”

And I wanted to hit them in the face.

I was exhausted to the point that I couldn’t see straight. I walked down the Chicago sidewalk with one baby squirming in the pouch strapped to my chest, and the other fighting to unleash himself from the stroller. I walked through a world I used to know, now blurry from my own tears and unshowered skin. I wondered about how well I was doing, and if I was the right fit. I marveled at how off I was about motherhood, how different the reality was from the image in my head. I sweated under my coat from the heat of breastfeeding, and from wrangling two babies in order to get them out of the house and into fresh air. I didn’t want to hear, “You will miss this.” I wanted to hear, “How are you?”

I spent the weekend of Thanksgiving up north in a house with my extended family, including my 2 year old nephew, and cousins, ages 2 and 4. My own boys are now 8 and 10. For me, bedtime looks a lot different than it used to. I make sure my boys brush their teeth and they read books on their own. My boys no longer cry, unconsolable as I try to discern what they need. They tell me what they need - food, water, sleep, a hug. I watched the other new parents in the house ebb back and forth throughout their day, from early morning wake-ups to over-tired babies who didn’t want to sleep. I smiled at feety pajamas as they tripped upstairs. I laughed adoringly as spoonfuls of food got thrown during mealtime. I saw exasperated expressions and distant stares. I watched mother’s eyes water up as their child screamed for something misplaced, a toy or a cry to be heard. I remained unbothered by the whines and the noise. I watched the moms and dads struggle to find peace between when to rock a child and when to set them down.

I remembered my body not being my own, and the overwhelming heat on my skin from constantly being touched.

I was bought back, back to the days of sleepless nights and senseless worry that I was doing something wrong. I was reminded of the all-consuming task of having a baby, and the fleeting preciousness of it all. Of course, the overall time span is short while the individual days and nights so long. I witnessed the conflict of holding an adorable, puffily-diapered bottom and the equal desire to potty-train soon. I remembered the magic of falling asleep next to a warm baby’s body and also wondering when it will all end and go back to normal.

I was there, and now I am here, on the other side. Nothing gets easier, we parents only adjust to the inevitable shifts in time and do the best we can within each seemingly forever phase of raising children. I would love the chance to snuggle again with my small babies, without also having to endure the strength and sacrifice it takes to get through new parenthood. But that’s not how it works.

Someone, somewhere, decided that babies are babies, and then, they are not. We don’t experience baby-hood in bits and pieces that might be more easily digestible. We experience the crash of new parenthood like an all-consuming tidal wave that rips us of our routine and our self. We feel as if we are drowning in diapers, bottles, sweat, and tears, and then, just as the wave came in, our children are 8 and 10, and we forget how hard it all was until we witness someone else navigate the same path. Oh yeah, I remember…

I can say, those mothers who I so flippantly judged and dismissed, were right. I do miss it. I remember the struggle, but not at such a close range. I remember the precious parts. I remember the dark mornings, awake with my baby at 4:00 am. I remember wishing I was asleep like the rest of the world. I felt alone, and like my baby and I were the only two people on the planet. Because at 4:00am, awake in our dark house, we were. 

Today, I am that well-meaning mother, and no matter what life stage you are in with your children, you are her as well. Maybe that’s what people meant all those times they approached me and said, “You will miss this.” Maybe what they meant, and what they should have said was this,

“I miss it.” 

To the new parents, I miss where you currently are. Because as hard as it is, and as tired and confused as you feel, it goes away. Maybe the magic is in the fact that new parenthood is all-consuming. Maybe that way we can all look back and say, We did it.

I felt as though I had it easy all weekend, compared to those with younger children. As humans, moving through any experience, it’s important to remember that our strength and support for one another comes from the fact that we were also there, in the thick of it.  Through my experience, I can bear witness to another mother. I can validate her, because I was her.