Smashing Rose Colored Glasses

Five, almost six years ago, I was exiting church after the service with steam coming from my ears. I was practically dragging a toddler, and carrying an infant in the Moby wrap, questioning if it was done right because a photographer had just told me it was wrapped wrong. Someone at church (I honestly can't remember who, which is good for both of us seeing as I work at this church now) said something to me along the lines of "Cherish every moment. It goes so fast." I had to walk away before I asked for her rose colored glasses and stomped all over them in the church entryway.

I was a stay at home mom to two kids two and under, my now ex husband was working 4-6 weeks out of town (when I wasn't freaking out about his state of employment, or lack thereof), my nipples were raw from my little nursling being attached to me every 1.5-2 hours round the clock, my toddler had just tried to bite her friend on a recent playdate, my entire body felt foreign and achey and so god awful tired.

I WISH it went fast.

And mamas of wee ones, I'm here to tell you, it does.

Wait a minute.

I promise, I am not telling you to cherish every moment. I'm not telling you it always goes by fast. I'm not telling you time isn't dragging, or that you don't know what time is anymore because what is sleep even?

I'm telling you that this phase of sleep deprivation and potty training and sticker charts and analyzing newborn behavior (they are such sweet smelling nuggets of mystery) goes and one day you'll be in a phase of parenthood where you look around and think to yourself "there it goes. It's going so fast."

The holidays bring up nostalgia for many of us, but ever since I had my youngest six years ago in December, I am extra nostalgic this time of year. 

I think about taking her toddler sister to see Frozen in the movie theater, twice. The second time it was the night before I went into labor with her, and  I wondered why I was able to make it through without crying the first time but sobbed through it the second time. (Turns out pre-labor hormones and emotions are no joke. "Why do Disney movies always kill the parents?!?!?!" I seem to recall sniffling to my dad later that evening. I woke up with contractions the next morning.)

I remember laboring against windows that revealed the dark of night and snowflakes slowly falling.

I remember putting a Rudolph knit hat on her little (big) head.

I think about her onesie that said "All Mommy Wants is a Silent Night" and staring at her against the glow of the Christmas tree. 

I remember the January after she turned one, nursing her in front of the Christmas tree I had no time to take down and thinking "this might be the last time."

I remember thinking around her second birthday "I might not ever rock her to sleep with Christmas music playing in the background again." And then thinking the same thing the next few years, because she still asked to be wrapped like a burrito, held in the rocking chair, and to sing a song before bed.

She's about to turn six and she needed some extra cuddles the other morning. And a few years ago, I would have thought "I need some body autonomy and I just want to drink a cup of coffee with minimal interruptions and we need to get to school/work" but because I know now, with eyes of clarity and not of rose, how fast it goes...I held her. I carried her to the bathroom and I snapped that picture before setting her down where she brushed her own teeth, brushed her own hair, and later helped me pour her cereal. And when I snapped the picture I thought "this might be the last time..."

The beauty of parenthood is that it's constantly evolving and for every last time, there's at least one more first time. First days of school, first time to eat second servings of a casserole with no complaints, first crushes and first sports teams.

So yes, it goes fast, eventually. But you have to survive some tough parenting phases (and we haven't even made it to the teenage years, which I get plenty of warning about!) that do not feel fast at all. If I could tell that hot mess, stressed out, strong, beautiful mom walking out of church that morning anything it would be this:

I would say, that lady was right about one thing. It will go fast. Not now, but one day. I promise, you will get to a place where you enjoy motherhood so much that it will feel like it's going by like the blink of an eye and you'll want to hold on to everything - their hands, most of all - to slow it down but at the same time relish at the gift of watching their lives grow and change and go by. I would tell her that it's ok that it doesn't feel like it's going fast now, and you don't have to cherish every moment, or feel guilt for struggling to find some moments to cherish. That one day, you'll brush the hair out of your sleepy almost six year olds eyes as she wakes, and remember the times you brushed your hand across her face as a sleepy baby. That one day you'll hold your eight year old's hand and remember her two year old hand in yours. 

And you'll realize that you cherished her all along.