When you noticed how small they still are

Transcript

Hey, mama.

Something happened tonight, didn't it.

You looked at them. Maybe in the bathtub. Maybe while they were brushing their teeth. Maybe as they were climbing into bed. And something in you stopped.

You noticed how small they still are.

The roundness of their cheeks. The dimples on their hands. The way their pajamas are just slightly too big. The whisper of their voice asking for water. The way they reached up for you, automatic, sure that you'd be there.

And it cracked something open.

Because most days you're rushing them through it. Hurry up. Brush your teeth. Get in bed. We're late. We're behind. Move. Faster.

But tonight — for some reason — you slowed down. And you saw them.

The actual small human being living in your house. The one who is going to grow up so fast that you won't believe it. The one who, in some not-too-distant future, will be brushing their own teeth in their own bathroom in their own house.

It's a lot, isn't it.

The love. The grief. The terror of how fast it goes. The deep knowing that this — this exact version of them — is not going to last.

Just sit with it.

You don't have to do anything with this feeling. You don't have to make it into a lesson. You don't have to promise yourself you'll be more present tomorrow. You don't have to feel guilty about all the times you weren't.

You just have to let yourself feel it.

This is the secret nobody tells you about motherhood. The grief that's woven into the love. The way every milestone is also a goodbye. The way you can be standing in the same room as them and miss them.

You noticed tonight. That's the gift.

A lot of moms are too tired to notice. A lot of nights you'll be too tired to notice.

But tonight you did. And that means something.

You are not just managing them. You are loving them. Watching them. Memorizing them.

You're a good mom.

The kind who noticed.

Stay here a moment longer. Hold it.

This too is part of the job.

The hardest, most beautiful part.