Parents, you have it so good right now. You might not know it yet, but you do.
Maybe you’re mired in poop and spit-up, living in a sleepless haze of ponytails and yoga pants and not knowing where you end and the baby begins. You spend what little free time you have on blogs or Googling diaper rashes and vaccines or binge-watching Game of Thrones when you should be doing laundry or sleeping.
Perhaps you are laying awake after being woken at some ungodly hour and stressing about using jarred baby food vs. homemade organic. Or you gave up on breastfeeding and you're not sure if you did the right thing, and OMG does this mean my kid will have allergies? You really don’t want to pick those Cheerios up off the floor again. The game of throwing them off the high chair was cute for a minute, but COME ON!
Maybe you’re exhausted from chasing a toddler, feeling like you’re on a constant suicide watch for a human who feels no fear and is constantly putting himself in harm’s way. You can’t imagine yet another day of Thomas and Friends on repeat and knowing the difference between Thomas and Percy and Henry, or that you prefer Ringo Starr’s narration to George Carlin’s, but not as much as you love Alec Baldwin’s version. (Though it really depends on the day.)
You could be dealing with a serious princess phase and you're wondering if this is affecting your daughter's self-image. Will she grow up and always be on a "diet" like you were? Is it Cinderella's fault? You've been made to watch The Little Mermaid 18 times in a single weekend involving the stomach flu, and you find yourself saying, "Yes, Ariel's pretty and has a nice voice, but do you think it was smart of her to change her body for a man?" Or the Frozen soundtrack has been on repeat so many times that you find yourself singing it when the kids aren't even around. Goddammit why can't I just "let it go"?
Confession: All the above thoughts have gone through my own head. All the experiences listed happened to me (except it wasn't Game of Thrones, it was The Hills—judge away).
The other night I posted the following on Facebook: He's nine so I still crawl in with him sometimes, only for a few minutes of whispers and snuggles, because a faint odour has started under his arms (his most ticklish spot) and peach fuzz has sprouted on his upper lip and soon I will not be allowed to crawl in next to the hulking bit of man-boy he will become.
Waking up 90 minutes later with a sore hip and his arm around my neck is a delicious feeling I will miss deeply and far too soon.
Because OMG he's growing up and it's all going so fast and soon he won't want me to hold him! Will it be all texting (or worse! Sexting!) and house parties with a 1000 people and door slamming and missing curfew?
I was told it would go so fast. We're all told that from the moment we conceive or adopt and announce that lo, we shall be parents. But the speed at which time flies when a small human is introduced into your life is not something that can be gauged until, well, it actually happens to you.
As soon as I posted that little private moment on Facebook, I got a great comment from my friend Erica. "My three-year-old son insisted on wearing his Hot Wheels underwear backwards today so he could see the car. Seems they change fast and I should appreciate these moments. Thanks Nadine." And then what I did for Erica, Rob Lowe did for me.
Slate published an adapted excerpt of Rob Lowe's memoir, Love Life, and it was soon shared, oh, 22,000 times on Facebook, so chances are you may have seen it. If not, go read it now (bring tissues!), I'll wait here.
There are so many sweet diamonds in Lowe's post about his eldest son Matthew going off to college and leaving the nest. A dad admitting that he spent the days leading up to the inevitable departure crying his eyes out, well that's not something we read everyday, and coming from a big star it feels all the more revealing.
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