This past month, on separate occasions, I heard two identical conversations regarding motherhood. Because I intersected with the same conversation twice, it forced me to take pause. The essence centered around this point: Mothering my daughter is just a fraction of my life.
Right now, at this very moment, I sometimes lose sight of this truth. Some days motherhood is so consuming. From the moment I wake up, coaching of my daughter commences. “Wake up, honey. It is time to go to school.” I bellow this line every morning. As she wakes from her slumber, she cries because she wants to sleep in. “Just five more minutes, Momma?” I offer the same words I uttered the previous day. “No, you can’t sleep in. You will be late to school.” With some convincing, she stumbles to the shower. I start checking off my mental list of all the things that I need to do just to get her to school. I boil a pot of water because she enjoys a hard-boiled egg with her waffles and glass of milk. While the water bubbles, I assemble her lunch, check to see if her water bottle is in her backpack and that she’s remembered to put her homework in her folders. This all happens within 30 minutes after I click the snooze button.
There are the incessant reminders that dominate many of my conversations with her. “Did you get your socks? Did you remember to bring your jacket? Wear your tennis shoes today because you have P.E.” There are the drives to and from school, playdates sprinkled on the weekend, extracurricular activities on a few weeknights, and the endless stream of birthday parties that occupy Saturdays.
Some days it feels like too much. I complain to my husband that raising children takes so much time, energy, work and at the end of the day the “me” factor vanishes. I am too tired to pursue me. I just want to sleep – this is sometimes elusive as well, nightmares, bathroom breaks, and tuck in requests seem to happen at 2:00 a.m. in the morning.
How long will this type of mothering last? My daughter is seven. She is already moving forward in ways that leave me with very little to say. It hit me yesterday when I tried to pick her up, but struggled because she’s grown as tall as some of the younger cacti in our yard. My daughter said, “You cannot even pick me up, Momma. I am too old now.”
You know those moments, when everything clicks? That is when it hit me. Mothering my daughter this way, in the most basic way, will end soon. In 10 years, she will embark on pathways that will probably not include me. Of course, I always hope to occupy a space in her backdrop, but it will never encompass the type of mothering that I do now.
Much like the picture captured of her dancing at my sister’s wedding, she will jump, move forward, while I watch.
As I write this, the clarity hits like a tidal wave.
Only a fraction of my life. And that fact leaves me brimming with tears.
IMAGE BY GREG BLOMBERG PHOTOGRAPHY
Welcome! I am a lawyer turned freelance writer, essayist, and editor. On staff at Literary Mama and the co-founder and co-editor of the literary journal, The Sunlight Press, my essays and reported work have appeared in The Washington Post, The Lily, Saveur, Civil Eats, Brain, Child, ESPN and elsewhere. I am currently at work on a memoir on grief and culture and how it provides perspective on life’s ordinary graces. I invite you to appreciate the ordinary with me. I hope my daily practice of seeing the magic in the mundane helps you celebrate and find more of these moments in your life too.
You summed it up. As bittersweet as it is, they grow up. I remind myself that was the goal, to give them roots and wings so they can fly on their own with confidence.
I’m with you, Rudri. It hurts when I realize how quickly it goes. Each new stage is a fun adventure, but I hate to see childhood close its doors, never to reopen. I try to keep my eyes focused on the excitement of the next stage! You are doing an excellent job with that 7 year old, by the way.
Oh that picture of her is so sweet and she is beautiful! Flitting like a little butterfly and so full of joy! My four children are all flown from the nest, so to speak, now and sometimes I miss them so bad I literally ache. I miss those days when they were all underfoot and sleeping under on roof. Our house inhaled and exhaled with those children. They still come back though – they still call very often – they still make me feel like home base. And may it comfort you some to hear from a mother at my stage that there are so many pleasures and fulfilling aspects of children as adults? Richer in many ways. I travel with one of my daughters. We’ve had adventures that I treasure and we giggle and laugh together as two adult women. And one of my daughters is a mother now herself and that has bonded us in myriad new ways. Our children teach us and stretch our souls and bring us joy and sorrows all our lives – the needs they have just change and our mothering morphs – but is always, always there.
Oh Rudri,I had the exact same conversation just yesterday. My husband asked me when our driver licenses were expiring, and said, “Oh, in 2018, so….5 more years.” Then I started imagining out loud where we would be in 5 years, and realized that our son will be entering high school. HIGH SCHOOL! I’m old enough now to understand just how nothing 5 years is – it used to be an eternity but I know that 5 years will be here in the blink of an eye. And yet my son, who is just a year older than your daughter, is still waiting for his adult teeth to come in, still needing to hold my hand to fall asleep…he still seems so little in almost every way.
I don’t know how it is that this year will have been 10 years that I learned I was going to have a baby. We’ve been mothers for nearly a decade!
By the way, that is a stunning photo!!
Oh, me too, me too. I think this every single day. Just a snippet really.
I miss those days when both my sons were under this roof. I miss my son everyday. Rudri, it goes by so fast. Enjoy these moments and these days. Not always easy but so wonderful. The picture is gorgeous ! 🙂
Beautifully said. I’m glad you are taking a moment to cherish the mothering you are doing right now. But please believe me when I say, there are many more wonderful mothering moments way in the future. My kids are 14-22 now and there are still such wonderful mothering moments. Cherish this time. And then cherish the next time. And the next. It all has wonderful in it.
And I absolutely love the photo of your daughter dancing.
Your daughter’s photo is stunning–the colors are dancing, she is dancing, her face is dancing.
I’ve had similar thoughts, Rudri. I crave time (and NEED time for myself) yet I cringe when I think that I will have wished some of these moments with my children away. It’s a fine line–one I calibrate daily. Thank you for this beautiful post!
xo
“Jump and move forward…” yes. I love that, but it pains me too, to realize it. Well said, as always.
Oh, this is so familiar; I too think often of how limited these days are, and that helps soothe me on days that the demands overwhelm. It’s already more than half over, my time with kids at home – the truth of that shocks, slices, takes my breath away. xoxo
Found your blog through ADR! 🙂
This post left me brimming with tears, too – almost. My sonis only 16 months old, which means we’ve just BEGUN to embark on our parenting journey. Right now, I’m in a mode where time to myself only happens if it’s for my writing, which IS time for myself, but not that kind of time I used to have (to read, to watch TV, to window shop). I don’t think I’ll get that time back for a long, long time – but I am trying to remember that one day, I will – and I’ll miss THIS. 🙂 xox