This past weekend, I enrolled my youngest child in pre-kindergarten. I couldn’t help but shed tears—many tears, in fact. Like many parenting milestones, this moment was filled with a mix of emotions.
On one hand, the thought of having four hours to myself each day feels like a dream come true. After being primarily a stay-at-home parent for nine years, the upcoming school year marks my tenth year in this role. That’s a decade—hard to believe, especially for someone like me who’s often forgetful.
I’m confident my son will flourish in his new environment, and I eagerly anticipate him making friends and enjoying new experiences. During our visit to the pre-K, he was so captivated by the dollhouse, building blocks, and trucks that we had to coax him out by his coat collar when it was time to leave. My concern lies less with how the separation will affect him and more with how it will impact me.
While I yearn for the freedom from the constant demands of caring for little ones, I know I will miss those moments. I’ll miss his tiny body curled up on my lap during rainy days while I read him yet another book about trains. I’ll even find myself longing for his endless requests for Goldfish, nuggets, cheese sticks, and water bottle refills. I’ll miss those sticky little hands tugging at my shirt as I attempt to load a mountain of dishes into the dishwasher.
With seven months until school begins for him, I navigate our days together, acutely aware that our time is limited. It’s a peculiar feeling—while I’m grateful that some of the more challenging aspects of parenting will soon ease, I can’t help but reflect on the fleeting nature of our moments together. The finality of it all weighs heavily on my heart.
In the early days of motherhood, the finish line felt obscured. Juggling sleep deprivation, my children’s overwhelming needs, self-doubt, and a longing for quiet made it hard to envision a change. Yet, now I have a date circled on the calendar, symbolizing my impending freedom. With each passing day, a small phrase echoes in my mind: “It was all worth it.”
It truly was.
A decade spent wiping away tears—both theirs and mine. A decade filled with snotty noses. A decade of being awakened by little fingers prying my eyes open. A decade of long days without adult conversation. A decade where completing a single task without interruption was nearly impossible. A decade of clothes stained with everything from spit-up to pasta sauce. A decade where my coffee always turned cold, and meals were consumed in hurried moments before requests for more water came pouring in. A decade of being an audience for my every bathroom visit, timing my hydration to avoid public restrooms with a toddler in tow. A decade of wrestling with squirming, wailing bodies into car seats, hoping they wouldn’t fall asleep at the wrong moment, and never getting to enjoy grown-up music in the car.
A decade of being beholden to nap times, often ending with little arms sprawled across my face as I lay still, wishing they would sleep eternally. A decade of exhaustion so profound it felt insurmountable, where I desperately needed just five minutes of peace amidst the chaos. A decade of sacrificing monetary wealth, personal hygiene, a tidy home, and often, my own sanity. A decade of cereal for dinner, snacks for breakfast, and floors littered with half-eaten meals. A decade spent counting down to bedtime, then gazing at their beautiful sleeping faces, quietly apologizing for my impatience and frustrations throughout the day. A decade of feeling like I could never measure up to their needs. A decade of being their everything.
It was worth it. Every moment, even the difficult ones—perhaps especially those. The times I felt I was at my breaking point, yet persevered. It was love that carried me through. Love that taught me I could achieve more than I ever imagined, even with little sleep. Love that reminded me to be gentle with myself.
I understand how challenging it can be to appreciate this in the moment. During my lowest points, I longed to escape. The weight of it all was overwhelming and frightening. But now, in hindsight, I only see the courage I displayed and how every single moment was worth it, even the most trying ones.
I recognize that my son’s transition to school won’t magically alleviate all the challenges of parenting; far from it. There will still be countless hours each day dedicated to guiding my children. The challenges faced with older kids—while often less physically exhausting—can be just as emotionally taxing.
Still, as I look ahead to this change, I’m reminded of how swiftly these years have passed. For now, I’m focusing on making the most of each day, acknowledging that the tough times are just as fleeting as the joyful ones. I’m striving to remember that every experience, even the overwhelming ones, will be worth it in the end.
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In summary, the journey of motherhood is fraught with both beautiful and challenging moments. Despite the difficulties, each experience contributes significantly to growth and love.
Keyphrase: motherhood journey
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