It Won’t Always Be Like This

“You got this, mama.”

They were words from a stranger, delivered with a supportive smile while I was hauling my two screaming little boys out of the zoo park. I had one wriggling, red-faced kid under each arm, a (third?) hand on the stroller, sweaty armpits, and very, very little patience left.

The comment jolted me. I know—I know—she meant it in a supportive, mom-to-mom way. But my brain screamed, “OMG! I just got the ‘you got this, mama’! This can only mean one thing: we’re making a HUGE scene and I look like a TOTAL mess.”

Which, of course, we were, and I did. But before the comment, it was all happening in the privacy of our own little Meltdown World, where I was too busy being irate to be embarrassed.

Post-comment, I was suddenly very painfully aware of how busy the park was, and how many people had their best sympathetic faces aimed in my direction.

Can’t you just pretend you don’t see us? my mind begged. I don’t want a village right now—I want a cave to hide in!

I felt exposed. Like the secret was out: I had lost control. I was an incompetent mom with bratty, poorly managed kids. I ducked my head, cowering in shame, and ran out of there.

Ten minutes later, when both boys were strapped into the car with bribery fruit snacks and I was slumped in the front seat, I found some perspective. First, I reminded myself that I wasn’t really an incompetent mom and my kids weren’t really brats—that was just a story my stressed out, self-conscious mind liked to tell to make bad situations worse.

Second, I reminded myself that:

It won’t always be like this.

Parenting is never easy, but parenting during the preschool years is hard in a special way. It’s dealing with extremely dependent kids who are too young for empathy or reason—usually, on compromised amounts of sleep. It’s lonely and thankless and relentless.

The night before a big, important day is inevitably the night my kids will be up 10 times. The day I most desperately need to get work done, they’ll wake up sick. The ONE day we have a play date or an appointment or a desperately-needed yoga class on the agenda, they’ll botch their naps and throw off the whole schedule. The day I wake up late and am rushing to get out the door will be the day they throw the biggest fits about eating, brushing their teeth, and getting dressed.

It’s small stuff, in the grand scheme of things, but when it’s all piled on top of each other, it can be straight-up maddening.

So yes, life with preschoolers is hard, but it’s also temporary.

Someday, I know, things will be different.

Someday…

…I’ll be able to take my kids to a park and sit on a bench without having to push swings, actively prevent falls from high places, and referee interactions with other kids.

…I will not be responsible for anyone else’s poop.

…I’ll be able to drop a kid off at a birthday party and, like, LEAVE. (Target run? Pedicure? Car nap?)

…I will be able to explain why healthy food is important using more meaningful language than “it’ll make you strong LIKE THE HULK!”

…I will not have to schedule everything around naps.

…I’ll be able to take off for the weekend with my girlfriends without worrying about…ANYTHING! Who cares! They’ll be fine!

…I’ll be able to go hiking and biking and adventuring with my kids, for longer than 8 minutes at a time, without having to push or pull or carry anyone.

…I will sleep through the night, without any small bodies appearing in my bed.

…I’ll be able to pop into the grocery store, really quick for one thing, without it turning into a 50-step operation.

…Play dates will be a totally different thing, where I just drop my kid off somewhere or another kid comes over to our house—minus all the drama of me and the other kid’s mom trying (and failing) to socialize while refereeing a room full of chaos.

…I will be able to send my kids outside to play—like, by themselves.

…I’ll be able to take my kids to the movies. (Where no one cries, talks incessantly and way too loudly, or runs up and down the aisles.)

…I’ll be able to pack for an overnight family trip in a way that doesn’t fill the entire trunk of the car.

…I’ll be able to watch my kids play sports—like, just sit there and watch, without participating or trying to entertain the younger one or anything.

…I’ll be able to spend a WHOLE ENTIRE DAY at a waterpark or a fair or a campground with my family, without painstakingly strategizing naps and food and bathroom locations and emergency bailout plans.

…I’ll be able to run out the door with my kids and a small purse and absolutely NOTHING ELSE.

…My kids will be in school for many hours a day. (Government mandated and funded! Guilt free!)

Hopefully this goes without saying, but since this is the internet, I’ll say it anyway: I love my kids. I love being a mom. If I could skip past these early years, I wouldn’t. (It would be tempting, but I wouldn’t.)

Struggling is not complaining, or regretting, or failing to appreciate your blessings.

Struggling is living.

And it’s totally worth it.

P.S. As I was finishing this article, my oldest son was drawing on my younger son’s face with a purple marker. That stops too, right?