"You're Gonna Miss This"

When Matt was a baby, I listened to Trace Adkins' song "You're Going to Miss This" quite a bit to cheer myself up and remember to enjoy the good moments and soak in all the cozy preciousness of having hours upon hours to luxuriate in the bliss that is a new baby. Because it was hard. It was really hard, being completely responsible for a whole new person's entire health, happiness, and well-being. I didn't love breastfeeding. I didn't love how I was so isolated, with no real friends, with nothing to DO, really, other than hang out with Matt when he was awake and obsess about his sleeping and eating patterns and try to get my editing work done when he was asleep. So I would let Trace Adkins tell me: "You're gonna miss this. You're gonna want this back. You're gonna wish these days hadn't gone by so fast. These are some good times, so take a good look around. You may not know it now,
but you're gonna miss this."

I was determined not to miss it. I have many fond memories of baby Matt, walking to Kroger with him in the stroller to do a little shopping, going to crafts at church and actually being able to talk to the other ladies, watching Matt learn to roll and then realize he could propel himself around the house, walking around outside near the trees and seeing how Matt was fascinated by looking at the leaves.

But it was hard. It was really hard. It was frustrating when Matt started sleeping poorly and we didn't know why (hello, 4-month regression!), and I was so sleep deprived all I could think about was abandoning Jeff and Matt so I could go somewhere and just SLEEP. It was boring. It was really, really boring a lot of the time. I've come to realize that I'm just not really a "baby person." It's not my forte. I like babies and I intentionally pause to appreciate aspects of babyhood, but I also just get bored with them. Trace was wrong; I already don't want those days back. I don't miss it. They didn't go by fast. It felt like Matt was a baby for years. (Now Sam's babyhood, that lasted about five minutes, I think.)

I've fiercely loved parts of every stage of Matt's, Sam's, and Ben's lives so far. But I'm getting pretty tired of being told how much I'll miss them being little. There will always be things I'll feel pleasantly nostalgic for, but it feels like there are double the things that I definitely will not miss at all, not even a little bit.

It's just like high school. People say how it's so exciting, it's going to be the best four years of your life, it's going to be so fun, there will be so many activities to do and friends to meet, and on and on. Sure, I liked high school. Now that I'm pretty far past it, it's easy to remember the good parts and forget all the negatives, unless I'm trying to call to mind specifics; then the not-so-good parts come flooding back. It's just like college. People say how it's so exciting, it's going to be the best four (or five! Ha ha!) years of your life...and on and on.

Then, of course, all the hoopla around getting married - the best day of your life! Um, no. It was nice. I love Jeff more than anyone, and I love being married, but I almost never think about our wedding day. It was just a day, a joyful, celebratory day on which I was excited to see so many of my friends, honestly, a day that marked only the very beginning of a lifetime of days that I get to spend with Jeff. But I don't want it back. I don't miss it. I want this lifetime of days to keep accumulating.

I guess this sentiment about how parents, moms especially, should enjoy every moment of their kids' childhoods feels like too much like "just wait." It's a positive spin on "just wait," but it feels silly and threatening just the same. You know, "Just wait! Just wait until you're married. Then you'll have all those newlywed fights." "Just wait until you have kids. Then you'll see why people let their kids watch tv all day (or eat junk food, or never sleep again)." "Just wait." Ugh.

Anyway. Back on track. I know I'll never be so loved and needed as I am now. I know I will miss very, very many things about these days: the way Matt and Sam are best friends almost every minute, the way Sammer Hammer is so cheerful and engaging, the way Matt knows so many facts and is so excited to learn more about everything, the obsession with construction vehicles, the way Ben is such a sweet and cuddly baby and content almost all the time, the opportunities to play out in our yard, the self-contained nature of staying home with the kids and not needing to be a bunch of different places, the random and uncontrollable outbursts of little kids giggling.

But it's still hard. It's hard to even get out of bed in the morning when I've gotten up 2-5 times in the night with Ben (and sometimes Sam). It's hard to appreciate these days in their entirety when I can't even sit down for some cereal in the morning without twenty requests for different things. It's too much to ask for me to appreciate how much these kids all need me at the exact same time some days, or when I'm too hot (which is the thing that makes me most short-tempered and miserable) and I have to carry both Sam and Ben up or down the stairs at the same time while Matt talks nonstop at me and wants me to actually come up with answers for something. The boredom is difficult. I don't need a lot of interaction with grownups, but I do need more silence and more solitude; that is very hard to come by. I'd like more time to go running or biking. Some days I just feel like I'm slogging through the hours, pacing the floor yet again to try to get Ben to nap instead of cry, sweeping the kitchen floor for the third time, washing the second load of laundry for the day, changing the tenth diaper, reading the hundredth book about trucks.

And then there are people blogging or Facebooking about how I (general "I" here - moms in general) should be enjoying every moment. Or how they are enjoying every moment. I find it too simplistic and not precise enough. I want to appreciate the good moments and forget the difficult ones. And then not ever tell someone to enjoy the stage of life they are in, because I don't know, I can never really know, what another person's life is like, and the admonition to just enjoy it is obnoxious.

For example, here is a post I saw one day, written by a person I don't know: "I cried because I'm going to miss this. I'm going to miss the asparagus, rice, and carrots that fell from [younger kid's] high chair and mixed into the toys on the floor. I'm going to miss constantly making sure [older kid] didn't leave any little toys around that [younger kid] could choke on. I'm going to miss the yogurt fingerprints all over the couch, and the Cheerios under every piece of furniture." That is crazy! Maybe she's actually going to miss those things - who am I to say? But I think probably not. I appreciate the sentiment, of course, but some of that is just plain crazy talk - missing food mixed with toys on the floor? I'd rather that not happen so I can spend time with my kids instead of time making sure the kitchen won't be overtaken by ants. Missing making sure your baby's not going to choke on tiny toys? Eek. Not fun. Missing yogurt and Cheerios all over the place? No! (See: rather be with kids than picking up junk.) Crazy! There are so many good things to miss, why miss all the small frustrations and the endless cleaning? 

The other thing that really gets me is when a mom, particularly a new mom, asks for advice on how to, say, get her baby to sleep longer than an hour at a stretch in any place other than the new mom's exhausted arms. Instead of helpful tips, usually a bunch of moms chime in to say how fast the days go by, how soon the new mom will be wishing her toddler were still a baby who would allow her to rock him or her to sleep, how short this precious window of babyhood is. That is not helpful! That does not help a mom feel more rested or make productive changes to help her baby sleep better. Maybe sometimes it could help a mom appreciate the moment a little bit, but I would guess that instead it just makes her feel bad for wanting to put that baby down and rest or do something that makes her feel like a regular grownup for a little while, like eat a hot meal or take a long shower or go for a walk without a stroller. And on top of that, feel bad that she's not constantly basking in the perfectness of new motherhood and the exquisiteness of her perfect baby.

(If you are a mom who feels that way about babies and is unfazed by sleep deprivation, great! Or if you were a mom who just loved every single moment of pregnancy, great! But not everyone has that experience. It just doesn't translate for all of us.)

"You're gonna miss this." Yes, I will miss a lot of this. I will miss so many things about having babies, toddlers, and preschoolers.

"You're gonna want this back." No. No, I'm not. I like it, I like these days and these stages, but this breakneck speed of life, the marathon I complete every day having a baby, toddler, and preschooler in the house, it's too much to sustain. I'm barely living it this time around. I'm not going to want this back. For sure.

"You're gonna wish these days hadn't gone by so fast." Eh, up in the air. The weeks are fast. The days each seem a million hours long. And the nights usually just feel like another day. I'm still waiting for some good nights, like the kind where I can get some decent sleep and feel rested when it's over.

"These are some good times, so take a good look around." Yes. Okay. I'll do that. I try to do that very frequently.

"You may not know it now, but you're gonna miss this." No. Nope. I'm enjoying the good parts (obviously not the constant messes and the choking-hazard moments), but I'm looking forward to everything else coming up.