Because my daughter is right here. In front of me. Alive and growing and talking a mile a minute and becoming this incredible almost-teenager. And still…
I miss her.
Not her exactly. But the version of her that doesn’t exist anymore. The chubbly little baby she was. The squishy toddler. The tiny girl who fit perfectly on my chest like she belonged there. The one I rocked to sleep, the one I sang elder emo songs to, the one who smelled like bubble bath and bedtime.
I miss her so much sometimes that my chest feels like it's going to collapse.
How can you miss someone who is literally down the hall?
I love who she is now. OMG, do I love her. She’s smart and funny and beautiful in ways that make me stop and think, how did I get so lucky? & How the hell did my DNA do that?!
She’s becoming her own person, with her own opinions, dreams, and future. Sometimes she makes me laugh so hard I forget time is even passing. Sometimes I look at her and see glimpses of the woman she’ll be, and I get so excited!
And then, somehow, in the middle of that…
I miss her so much sometimes that my chest feels like it's going to collapse.
How can you miss someone who is literally down the hall?
I love who she is now. OMG, do I love her. She’s smart and funny and beautiful in ways that make me stop and think, how did I get so lucky? & How the hell did my DNA do that?!
She’s becoming her own person, with her own opinions, dreams, and future. Sometimes she makes me laugh so hard I forget time is even passing. Sometimes I look at her and see glimpses of the woman she’ll be, and I get so excited!
And then, somehow, in the middle of that…
I miss my baby.
I miss the quiet parts.
The cosleeping.
The baby snuggles.
The way her little hand would reach for me in the dark.
The bedtime songs.
The bubble baths where everything felt soft and small and safe.
I miss the weight of her sleeping on me like the whole world could pause for a moment.
Back then, motherhood felt like this endless stretch of days… ( Sometimes like an endless stretch of diapers, throw up, sleepless nights, and baby wipes.)
And now I realize it was fleeting. It was always slipping through my fingers, even while I was living it. No one really warns you about this part. About how parenting is just a long series of goodbyes wrapped inside love.
You don’t just raise a child…
You grieve versions of them as they go.
And it’s beautiful. And it’s brutal. Sometimes I wish I could go back for one day. Just one. Just to hold my little baby again.
One more squishy-cheeked morning.
One more sleepy lullaby.
One more tiny voice calling me Mama like I was the whole universe.
Just one more moment I didn’t know I would miss so much.
But she’s here. And she’s wonderful. And I wouldn’t trade who she’s becoming for anything.
So I hold both the gratitude and the ache. The joy and the longing. The excitement and the nostalgia. Missing someone who is right in front of me.
That’s motherhood, too, I think.
Anyway... If you need me, I’ll be crying over baby photos while my almost-teen rolls her eyes at me and makes sure to capture my biggest insecurities in .5 on her iPhone.
Life is beautiful and emotional, and I have a lunch bag to pack full of snacks.
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