“I see you at the supermarket, I see you on the playground. I see you at school, I see you on the train and at kid-friendly restaurants. Sometimes you see me too, and we exchange a small smile, an eye roll, an “I get it” moment. More often, you don’t see me anymore—you’re chasing your toddler down the aisles, watching your preschooler like a hawk as they climb higher than you’d like, scolding your baby goat for pinching his brother, reaching out to briefly wipe him up with a wipe. Mopping up a spilled drink.
A few days ago, I was at our local public pool, and if ever there was a stark metaphor for life as a mom in her 30s, the public pool has to be it. There we all are—the stereotypes we swore we'd never be—knee-deep in the kiddie pool, our eyes glued to our little ones—and genuinely charmed by their antics. Though we may be there in pairs or groups, our conversations are fragmentary; we can't relax. Our focus is entirely on our children. We're tired. We're distracted. Our tankini-clad bodies are battle-scarred and not what they used to be.
At the top of the hill are the bright twenty-somethings. They're flipping through magazines, chatting with their friends, Facebooking, and snapping selfies on their iPhones. They're rested. They're toned. They're magnificently unaware of what's coming their way in the future. They don't even see us. Or if they do, they swear they'll never be us.
That's fine. We've been there once, and we know better than to say they'll be offended if we try.
You see, the truth is that in our thirties, we've let ourselves go. No. We've let our "selves" go. We have young children, and for the next little while, our "selves" won't come first. We'll sleep (or not) according to our toddlers' and/or newborns' schedules and/or a combination of the above. Our hair won't be washed as often as we'd like. Sit-ups? What are sit-ups? We'll be wiping noses and bottoms and messes off the walls. We'll cook what feels like a continuum from breakfast to dinnertime and not leave the table until at least a forkful of peas have been eaten. We'll spend hours a week on our knees by the toilet and then read "just one" more bedtime story until we pass out on the edge of the toddler bed. We will be fluent in the language of Paw Patrol, Sofia the First, Peppa Peg, and Ladybug, and we will shamelessly use said characters as threats, bribes, or as digital babysitters so we can hop into our bathroom to take a shower. We will find ourselves negotiating with terrorists even though we swore we never would. We will respond to “Hook me up!” and “More!” and “I don’t want it!” and say “What’s the magic word?” more times a day than we ever imagined possible. This is a 30s thing. It’s not easy, and that’s the truth.
But there's another truth. Up there on the hill, subtly nestled among the twenty-somethings, are the forty-somethings. They're rested too. They're toned too. They're alone, quietly reading a book. They see us, and they're sympathetic but also a little smug. They've been there and done that and they know it doesn't last forever. Ladies, forty is the holy grail. Forty-something is coming.
The decade in which we recovered our “selves.”
It's not that I want to wish time away. Although 30 is a bit of a blur so far, it's also a kind of magic. Never again will I feel a cheek rest on my chest in the middle of the night. Little arms reaching for me after a fall. The delicious smell of a baby and tiny pairs of skinny jeans and shiny sneakers. The scooter rides and monkey bars and bedtime stories with a tiny person in the crook of my arm. Hearing "I want mommy" and "Please, can you help me?" and "I want to give you a hug."
Yes, something will come, and it will be a blessing. But don't let it go too fast. If I'm going to lose myself for a decade, motherhood is a delicious thing to lose, too.
Love, Catherine.(To the thirtysomething Mums,Catherine, 2016)
Text translated by Cristina Oroz Bajo
Source: http://littlesloveandsunshine.com/2016/07/05/to-the-thirtysomething-mums/
Here's the link to the original article, by a mother who, like all of you, has that special sensitivity, that desire to reach out, that makes us grow arms to be able to attend to everything, with fleeting lives that require us to slow down to become aware, breathe, and attend to what's truly important: the moment we're living in: motherhood; a gift without an instruction manual that brings all its magic, so don't forget to enjoy it, don't let it pass you by... I hope you liked it.