There was a time when I couldn’t wait for my kids to grow up.I know. It sounds terrible coming from a mom.
But if you’ve ever had toddlers, babies, or little kids running around your house, you probably understand exactly what I mean.
I couldn’t wait until they slept through the night.
I couldn’t wait until they could get dressed themselves.
I couldn’t wait until they could make their own breakfast.
I couldn’t wait until I didn’t have to hear “MOM!” approximately 4,000 times a day.
I wanted the next stage.
Then the next one.
And then somehow, without me realizing it, the next stage became almost adulthood.
Now I’m standing here watching my kids grow up, and I’m realizing something I don’t think anyone ever really prepares you for:
You can spend years wishing your kids would grow up and then spend the rest of your life wishing you could go back for just one more day.
I Thought Growing Up Was the Goal
When you’re in the thick of raising little kids, it’s easy to focus on survival.
You’re tired.
You’re touched out.
You’re cleaning the same mess for the 47th time.
Someone needs a snack.
Someone else lost a shoe.
Someone is crying because their sibling looked at them wrong.
And you’re standing in the kitchen wondering if you’ll ever drink an entire cup of coffee while it’s still hot.
I remember those days.
I remember wanting independence for my kids because, honestly, I wanted a little independence for myself too.
I wanted them to be able to do things without me.
And eventually they did.
They learned to dress themselves.
They learned to make food.
They learned to solve their own problems.
They started going places without me.
They learned to drive.
They started making their own plans.
They started thinking about graduation, work, relationships and what they might want their adult lives to look like.
And I should be celebrating all of it.
I am.
But I’m also grieving something at the same time.
Their childhood.
Because every milestone means you’re gaining something new while quietly losing something you can never get back.
Nobody Tells You That Parenting Is Full of Goodbyes
We talk so much about milestones.
The first steps.
The first words.
The first day of school.
The first sleepover.
The first dance.
The first job.
The first car.
Graduation.
But we don’t talk enough about the fact that every “first” is also a “last.”
The last time you carry them when they’re small enough to fit in your arms.
The last time they ask you to sit beside their bed because they’re scared.
The last time they automatically reach for your hand.
The last time they need you to fix something that feels enormous to them but is actually completely insignificant to everyone else.
You don’t know when those moments are happening.
There isn’t a little notification that says:
“Congratulations! This is the last time this will ever happen.”
You just live it.
Then years later, you realize you would give almost anything to experience it one more time.
I’ve written before about what it feels like when your child suddenly becomes an adult, and that emotional shift is something I don’t think parents talk about enough. When Your Child Suddenly Becomes an Adult: The Emotional Shift Nobody Warns You About is basically the story of that realization hitting me right in the mama heart. (Funky Frugal Mommy)
I’ve Watched Hundreds of Kids Grow Up
I’ve spent so much of my life caring for children.
Through my daycare, I’ve watched hundreds of little personalities develop right in front of me.
I’ve watched babies become toddlers.
I’ve watched toddlers become preschoolers.
I’ve watched shy little kids come out of their shells.
I’ve watched parents drop off children who were clinging to their legs and eventually pick them up while those same kids ran through the door without even looking back.
I’ve seen how quickly childhood disappears.
So I should have known.
I should have been prepared.
But there is no preparing yourself for watching your own children grow up.
Because these aren’t just children I’ve cared for.
These are my babies.
Even when they’re taller than me.
Even when they’re driving.
Even when they’re making adult decisions.
Even when they’re talking about their futures.
Some tiny part of my brain still sees the little kids who used to need me for everything.
And Then I Lost My Grandma
A few days ago, I lost my grandma.
And grief has a funny way of making you look at your entire life differently.
Suddenly I’m thinking about my kids growing up while also thinking about my grandma reaching the end of her life.
And somewhere between those two things is this huge reminder that time only moves in one direction.
Our children are moving toward adulthood.
We’re moving through our own lives.
Our parents and grandparents are getting older.
And eventually, if we’re lucky enough to live long lives, we will all reach the other end of this journey.
That thought hurts.
Because we spend so much of our lives looking forward.
We’re always waiting for the next thing.
The next birthday.
The next Christmas.
The next school year.
The next vacation.
The next milestone.
The next chapter.
And sometimes we get so focused on what’s coming that we forget to look around at what’s already here.
Losing someone also makes you realize just how much the people we love become part of the story of our lives.
The little traditions.
The family stories.
The things they taught us.
The memories that seemed ordinary when they happened but suddenly feel priceless when that person is gone.
I Don’t Want to Rush Through My Life Anymore
Losing my grandma has made me think about all the things we assume we’ll have more time for.
More visits.
More conversations.
More pictures.
More holidays.
More “I’ll call you tomorrow.”
More chances to say the things we should have said today.
We always think there will be another opportunity.
Until suddenly there isn’t.
And that’s one of the hardest things about losing someone.
It’s not just missing them.
It’s knowing there are things you can never do with them again.
You can’t make another memory.
You can’t take another picture.
You can’t call them.
You can’t hear their voice.
You can only carry what you already have.
And maybe that’s why I’m looking at my kids differently right now.
Because one day, these moments will become memories too.
The House I Sometimes Want to Escape Is the House I’ll Miss
There are days when I dream about quiet.
I dream about having a clean house for more than six minutes.
I dream about not having someone asking me what’s for dinner before I’ve even had breakfast.
I dream about everyone being responsible for their own laundry.
I dream about sleeping in.
I dream about having a completely uninterrupted conversation.
And I’m not going to apologize for that.
Moms are allowed to be tired.
We’re allowed to need breaks.
We’re allowed to want our own space.
But I’m also starting to realize that someday I might sit in a quiet house and desperately wish I could hear someone yelling:
“MOM!”
I might miss the shoes by the door.
The dirty dishes.
The noise.
The laughter.
The arguments.
The ridiculous conversations.
The kids coming downstairs looking for food.
The chaos.
Even the things that drive me completely insane right now.
Because someday, they won’t live here anymore.
And the silence that sounds like freedom today might sound very different then.
I Don’t Want a Perfect Family Life
I’ve never wanted a perfect life.
I don’t think perfect families actually exist.
I want a real life.
A messy one.
A loud one.
A funny one.
A sometimes stressful one.
A life where we make mistakes and apologize.
A life where we laugh until we cry.
A life where we eat dinner together and sometimes everyone is annoyed with everyone else.
A life where we take pictures even when nobody’s hair is perfect.
A life where we go on adventures but also spend random Tuesday nights at home doing absolutely nothing.
A life where my kids know that no matter how old they get, they can always come home.
I actually wrote an entire post recently about this exact feeling: I Don’t Want a Perfect Family Life. I Want a Life We Actually Remember. If you’ve been around here for a while, you’ll probably recognize a lot of the feelings in this post too. (Funky Frugal Mommy)
That’s what matters to me.
Not perfection.
Memories.
I’m Also Realizing How Much Moms Carry
Maybe part of why we rush through the stages is because we’re exhausted.
Motherhood comes with an unbelievable mental load.
You’re thinking about school.
Appointments.
Groceries.
Dinner.
Money.
Laundry.
Birthdays.
Work.
The house.
Your kids’ emotions.
Everyone else’s needs.
And sometimes you get so caught up in keeping everyone moving forward that you forget to actually stop and look around.
I’ve written about that side of motherhood too in The Mental Load of Motherhood Nobody Warned Me About.
Because sometimes the problem isn’t that we’re not grateful enough.
We’re simply carrying so much that we barely have time to breathe. (Funky Frugal Mommy)
Maybe the Goal Was Never to Get to the Next Stage
Maybe I’ve had it backwards all these years.
Maybe the goal isn’t to rush through each difficult stage so we can finally get to the easier one.
Maybe the goal is to learn how to appreciate the stage we’re actually in.
That doesn’t mean we have to love every minute.
I certainly didn’t love every minute.
Some days were unbelievably hard.
Some seasons nearly broke me.
But there were beautiful moments hiding inside the hard ones.
And I don’t want to be so busy surviving today that I fail to notice them.
Because my kids are growing up.
My grandma’s life has ended.
And I’m somewhere in the middle, watching time move around me.
That’s a strange place to stand.
To look backward at the people and moments that are gone.
To look forward at everything that hasn’t happened yet.
And then to realize that the only thing I actually have is right now.
I Want More Ordinary Days
I’ve realized that I don’t actually want more extravagant days.
I want more ordinary ones.
More evenings at home.
More sitting outside.
More random conversations.
More cooking together.
More laughing.
More pets taking over the furniture.
More little family traditions.
More pictures of the things that seem insignificant now but will probably mean everything to me someday.
I’ve even found myself thinking more about the simple things we do together—getting outside, working on little family projects, cooking, and just being together without needing some huge plan.
Those ordinary moments are often where the memories are actually made.
I Don’t Want to Miss It Because I Was Too Busy
This is probably the biggest thing I’ve learned.
I don’t want to spend so much time trying to build a better life that I forget to actually live the one I already have.
I don’t want to constantly be waiting for the next milestone.
When the kids are older.
When we have more money.
When the house is finished.
When work slows down.
When we can finally take that trip.
When everything is easier.
Because there is always going to be something.
Life isn’t a waiting room until everything becomes perfect.
This is it.
The messy kitchen.
The teenagers asking for food.
The cat screaming at me because she thinks she hasn’t been fed in three days even though she ate approximately 14 minutes ago.
The random family conversations.
The good days.
The hard days.
The days where nobody wants to cooperate.
The days where everybody is laughing.
All of it.
I Don’t Want a Perfect Family. I Want a Life We Remember.
Maybe that’s what my grandma’s passing has reminded me most.
We don’t get unlimited time.
Not with our children.
Not with our parents.
Not with our grandparents.
Not with our friends.
And not even with ourselves.
So I’m trying to stop waiting for the perfect moment.
I’m trying to take the picture.
I’m trying to sit down when I can.
I’m trying to listen to the story I’ve already heard five times.
I’m trying to hug my kids even when they’re pretending they don’t need one.
I’m trying to tell the people I love that I love them.
I’m trying to stop worrying so much about whether everything looks perfect from the outside.
Because someday, the things that feel ordinary today won’t be ordinary anymore.
The little moments will become the memories.
The people will become photographs.
The noisy house will become a quiet house.
The kids will become adults.
And the people who came before us will become stories we tell.
I can’t stop that.
None of us can.
But I can be present for it.
I can notice it.
I can appreciate the people who are still here.
And I can make sure the people I love know exactly how much they mean to me.
Because I spent years wishing my kids would grow up.
Now I’m watching them do exactly that.
And honestly?
I just want time to slow down.
Just a little.
Because I’m finally realizing that the days I once couldn’t wait to get through are the very days I may someday give anything to have back.
So if you’re in that exhausting season right now, with little kids hanging off your legs and asking for snacks every five minutes, I hope you know something:
You don’t have to love every minute to appreciate the season.
Take the picture.
Give the extra hug.
Let them crawl into your bed.
Sit on the floor.
Laugh at the ridiculous things.
Make the memory.
Because one day, those little people will be grown.
And you’ll look back and realize you weren’t just raising children.
You were building the memories you would carry for the rest of your life.
And if you’re lucky, you’ll have people you love at both ends of your life reminding you just how precious this whole messy, beautiful thing really is.
More Real-Life Parenting From Funky Frugal Mommy
If this hit you in the mama heart, here are a few more of my real-life parenting stories you might want to read next:
When Your Child Suddenly Becomes an Adult: The Emotional Shift Nobody Warns You About
I Don’t Want a Perfect Family Life. I Want a Life We Actually Remember
The Mental Load of Motherhood Nobody Warned Me About
How We Are Slowly Taking Away Screens to Spend Time as a Family
What I’m Doing This Week to Save Money
Because parenting isn’t just about getting through the next stage.
It’s about actually being there while we’re living it.
