Note to all new Richmond moms: it’s true. It’s all true. What those old ladies in the mall tell you. I promise, my friend.
If I had a nickel for every time someone said, “Honey, don’t wish this baby stage away!” Well. . . .I’d probably have a few bucks now and could buy a latte at Starbucks.
Beyond that, though, is the realization that all of those comments, were in fact, completely true.
Seven years ago (and a few months) my first son was born. After giving birth to two more children within a five year span, going through at least four strollers, five thousand diapers (this may be on the light side actually), twelve hundred pacifiers (again, I underestimate), and let’s just say TOO MANY sleepless nights, I am here to report: it does go by so fast.
My spunky, mess-of-a-twenty-eight month old, pictured here, recently became potty trained. That means that we are the proud parents of a kid who no longer needs diapers, and that we have a few more bucks in our pocket every month. More importantly though, it marks the end of an era: there are no more babies in this house. No more pregnant bellies, baby swings, baby carriers, playmats, pack n plays. Wistful? Perhaps.
I relished every moment with my babies–even the long nights up feeding them by myself–I knew it was an incredible bonding time, a once-in-a-lifetime, and honestly I got over the sleep deprivation and ache from surgery so quickly because my maternal instinct was a force stronger than any physical suffering.
After seven years—what seemed at the time to be seven long years at the time—I’ve come to realize that all those people giving me unsolicited advice were doing me a big favor: they were gently reminding me that every first tooth, every night rocking away an ear ache, every first step upon chubby little legs, is a gift. No on to the next adventure. . .
