Being a mother is the single most amazing thing that has happened to me.
I always sort of suspected that my heart held this yet-to-be-filled space for my future children, but never could I have imagined just how much I would love motherhood. How much it would change me and challenge me and complete me in a way nothing ever has before.
But parenting, being someone’s mum, is also hard. There are days (like this Saturday just gone) where I find myself almost weeping with tiredness and the fact that the floor I only just cleaned is now covered in yogurt smears and tiny little Aquabeads. (If you have a girl between the age of four and nine, I am sure you are well aware of the nightmare that is Aquabeads. If not; well, lucky you!)
Life with young children is full on. It is hectic and messy and sticky and funny and amazing and tiring. All those things multiplied by ten. It is being in the trenches like you have never been in the trenches before. And there are days when you will find yourself rushing your kids, telling them to hurry up and finish their dinner or hurry up brushing their teeth or hurry up and come on when you are trying to get through Tesco without losing what little you have left of your sanity.
But here is a piece of advice that will make you learn to cherish even those days. Words we should remind ourselves and each other even when the going gets tough.
I read these in a blog post recently and just know that I will forever more remind myself of those very words.
When you’re having a hard time, remember your child will be older tomorrow.
Oh, how true that really is.
Because the thing is, when you are in the epicenter of the trenches, when every day is Groundhog Day, it is hard to remember to enjoy the moment. You are too busy focusing on getting through the day. Getting to bedtime. Getting to have a shower or even eat your (by now) cold dinner.
But in the middle of all this, your children are growing up and up, little by little, every day. Every night when you tuck them into bed they are a full day older than they were this time yesterday, and while the days might seem long during this time, the years, cliche or not, are so very, very short.
Which is why Jennifer Burby’s blog post stuck with me. It made me stop and think and change my outlook. Because guess what, my kids will be older tomorrow. And I don’t want to spend my future regretting I didn’t enjoy my right now.
Here is an extract from her post “Parenting in the Trenches: They’ll Be Older Tomorrow”
I won’t care if getting completely into the water at the local swimming pool means I’ll have to wash and blow-dry my hair the next day because they’ll be older tomorrow.
I’ll disregard that building sand castles and making mermaids at the beach will result in painstakingly vacuuming the car because they’ll be older tomorrow.
I’ll try my best not to rush through dinner and bath time after I’ve arrived home from a crazy day at work because they’ll be older tomorrow.
That unnecessarily spending twenty more minutes at the office finishing something that can be done later because there’s no real deadline isn’t worth missing precious time with the girls at home because they’ll be older tomorrow.
I’ll try not to stress that fifteen extra minutes splashing around in the tub means a slightly later bedtime because they’ll be older tomorrow.
That reading one more book or watching ten more minutes of Peppa Pig isn’t the end of the world because they’ll be older tomorrow.
That declining an after-hours obligation I don’t really want to attend with people I can catch up with another time so I can hang out with my family is still ok because they’ll be older tomorrow.
I’ll embrace my little ladies screaming songs and laughing in the car at the top of their lungs instead of being annoyed because they’ll be older tomorrow.
I’ll let them hold my hand and bashfully cling to me when meeting a new friend or going to an unfamiliar place because they’ll be older tomorrow.
I’ll play sharks, Marco Polo, and underwater handstand Olympics with them in the swimming pool because they’ll be older tomorrow (and, soon enough, likely won’t want to hang out with me anyway.)
I’ll try to be patient and hold my breath and count to ten when they accidentally knock over the bowl of Cheerios because they’ll be older tomorrow.
I’ll be yearning for yesterday when they’re older tomorrow.
