For my cute friend Summer
Who reminded me
That it’s not always helpful
To a mom of young kids
When well-meaning moms
Whose kids have grown up
Say things like:

“One day you’ll miss it.”

I get it.

Because when I was
In the middle of those years,
It felt like
Someone was
Calling it out:
“One day you’ll miss it!”
From their safe haven
On a peaceful beach
While they sipped
Umbrella drinks
On a chaise lounge.

And meanwhile,
I was in the middle
Of a battlefield
Getting shot at
On all sides.
Like, what did you say?
Literally.
Because I couldn’t hear you
Over all of the noise and chaos
At my house.
And my sleep-deprivation.

“One day you’ll miss it,”
They would say
When I complained
About the fingerprints
Of who-even-knows-what
(Maybe peanut butter?
Or chocolate?
Please let it be chocolate…)
On the doors
And the windows
And the furniture
And the walls
(Whyyyyyy do they ALWAYS
Have to touch the walls?)
That I had just cleaned.

Or after I played
The guessing game called
“Why is this door sticky?”

“One day you’ll miss it.”
They would cheerfully
Remind me,
From their clean houses
And peaceful, quiet bedrooms,
With no sticky doors.

But to this day,
I’ve never heard
Another mom say:

“You know,
I really miss
When my kids
Would throw up
And almost make it
To the toilet,
But not quite.”

Or

“I really miss
When someone would wake me
Out of a dead sleep
In the middle of the night
Because they had a nightmare.”

Or

“I really wish
Someone would come over
And destroy this room
That I just spent
All day cleaning.”

No one says that.

But I know what they mean now.
What they really mean is:

One day
I would miss
How there was a time
When I could clean the carpet
And give them a bath
And a kiss on the cheek
And all of their problems were solved.

And

I would miss
How there was a time
When they were
Within shouting distance
So they could call to me
In the middle of the night,
And I only needed
To walk the length of a hallway
To reassure them
That their nightmares weren’t real
And that they were safe.

And

I would miss
How there was a time
When they lived under my roof.
Because even though
It came along with
So.
Many.
Messes.
I knew exactly where they were.

Because as they grew up
A kiss on the cheek
No longer fixed
All of their problems.
And I wasn’t within shouting distance
Anymore –
Or even the first person
They would call.
And sometimes their nightmares
Were actually real
And I could no longer
Keep them safe.
And I no longer knew
Exactly where they were
All of the time.

And I would miss
The time when
I could smush their cheeks
With endless kisses.
And I was their favorite person
In the entire world.
And time
When they thought
That I knew all the answers.
And the time
When they would climb
Into my bed
For a bedtime story
And bedtime cuddles.

But if I’m honest
I do not now-
Nor do I think I will ever-
Miss the guessing game of:
“Why is this door sticky?”
And that’s okay too.

So to the moms
Who are in the battlefield
Of sleep-deprivation
With young kids,
And the throw-up
And the fingerprints
And the nightmares
And the messes:

I think the more accurate message
Is not that we will miss
Those particular things,
But what those things represent:

Another time.
Another phase of life
That doesn’t exist anymore.

So please don’t be mad at me
When I say
That I think they were right.

And one day,
We’re going to miss it.

Well, some of it.

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