I don’t pick out school clothes anymore.
I no longer wipe tiny bums or wipe away runny noses.
There’s no one to nurse to sleep at bedtime, no little arms curled around me in the quiet dark. And if one of them happens to wake at 3 a.m.? They don’t call out anymore. They quietly peek at their alarm clocks, realize there are still hours until morning, and simply settle back into their pillows on their own.
I don’t remember the last time someone asked me to cut up their spaghetti or blow on their soup because it was too hot. When they need socks, they go find them. When they’re hungry, they grab their own snack.
There were so many moments I longed for in these days—small, ordinary, chaotic moments of motherhood. And then, suddenly, I found myself standing smack dab in the middle of them, with not just one free hand but two. And wow… it took a little getting used to.
Because my heart ached. It ached for the days of carrying a child on one hip, holding another’s hand, while calling out to the little one running ahead of me. I grieved quietly for what once was, for the mess and noise and constant demand of tiny humans.
And then I looked closer. I noticed the beauty of this new season, the one I’m living now.
The beauty of talking about goals and dreams, discussing what’s to come and mapping out the steps to get there.
The beauty of after-school conversations around the kitchen island, listening to all the little details of their day while I make what feels like fifty-eight sandwiches—every single one of which gets eaten without complaint.
The beauty of sitting down to a board game, without the fear of a child stomping off in tears because they lost (still working on that skill with the husband, haha).
The beauty of being asked, “Does this outfit look alright, Mom?” or “Can you quiz me on these questions?” or “Can I tell you what happened yesterday?”—the beauty of being needed in ways that are deeper and richer than before.
The beauty of mealtimes. Everyone sitting around the table, eating what’s on their plates, sharing their day, laughing, chatting… and then, when it’s done, carrying their plates away without a single reminder. And yes, the beauty of a mother finally getting to eat her meal while it’s still hot. Bless.
Here’s what I’ve learned: There is beauty in every season of motherhood. You just have to let go of the grief for the one that has passed and open your eyes to the one you’re in.
And here’s another thing: they’ll always need you, Mama. Always. Just in different ways, that’s all.
