Pregnancy spanned ten months, a duration filled with unrelenting nausea, sleepless nights, and the constant worry of whether I would excel as a mother—this burden weighed more heavily on me than the 30 extra pounds I gained.
In the early days, I managed just four hours of sleep each night. Those initial nights before adapting to sleep deprivation felt interminable. Four fragmented hours of rest left me struggling to engage in coherent conversations or to stay awake while cradling that little human against my shoulder.
During those hectic early days, I was perpetually late—thirty minutes behind schedule was my new normal. Regardless of my organizational efforts, unforeseen circumstances like forgotten items, diaper changes, misplaced shoes, or toddler meltdowns thwarted my best intentions. The accumulation of lost minutes and rushed apologies weighed heavily on my mind, making me question if punctuality would ever be part of my life again.
On his first day of preschool, I found myself standing at the classroom window for twenty minutes. I knew he was in good hands, yet witnessing his tears, not understanding why I had to leave or if I would return, broke my heart in a way that was profound.
Now that my boys are in school, my house remains empty for eight hours each day. The silence is deafening—absent are the sounds of laughter, the tears, the beeping toys, and the endless snack requests. This emptiness doesn’t feel liberating; instead, it is filled with a longing for the days spent on the floor solving puzzles and the Cheerios scattered underfoot.
Nine years have passed since this sweet child entered my life, and now only nine years remain before he embarks on his own journey away from home.
In those early stages of parenthood, it often feels like you’re laboriously pushing a boulder uphill, while time, fatigue, and confusion simultaneously push you down. Yet suddenly, you find yourself at the midpoint of that hill. Behind you lie the moments of sticky fingers, mispronounced words, and little hands tugging at your clothes. What once felt burdensome now exists as fleeting memories of days that passed in the blink of an eye.
To my dear friends with infants and toddlers: those hours that seem to stretch endlessly and often fill you with frustration—know that they will eventually pass. I understand the heaviness you feel, but resist the urge to wish these moments away. You will reach the top of that hill before you know it.
Last night, my son asked for just five more minutes to snuggle in bed with me. I could have declined, citing dinner preparations or laundry, or simply the late hour. Instead, I chose to say yes—always yes. Time spent with my child is weightless when we’re cozily tucked under his blanket.
As we lay together in the dark, he whispered, “I don’t want to be 9. I don’t want to grow up.” That moment made me realize that just as I stand at the peak of the hill, he too is caught between the innocent joys of childhood and the inevitable march towards adolescence—eager to grow, yet yearning to remain my little boy. The burden of time rests equally on both our shoulders.
So, I held him tighter and loved him fiercely. In that moment, there was no urgency for him to grow up. The world around us brimmed with wonder, magic, and innocence. Together, we stood at the summit, gazing down into the unknown, reluctant to begin our descent just yet.
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Summary:
This article reflects on the fleeting nature of time in parenting, emphasizing the importance of cherishing each moment with children. It acknowledges the challenges of early parenthood while encouraging parents to savor the present, as these days will soon turn into cherished memories.
Keyphrase: Time with my child
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