By Stephanie Gibbons 
Oh, to be a middle-aged mom. I’m sitting in tiny coffee shop sipping iced coffee when I notice two little boys in line with their multitasking mom. The smaller boy staggers around in that drunken toddler walk. The bigger one is behind him, shuffle-running with his chubby arms wide open to capture his little sibling.
My body tenses as I anticipate five steps ahead. Big brother will catch little brother with a satisfied giggle; little brother will squeal with delight and wrestle to escape. Big brother will tighten his grip in determination; little brother will flail in even greater determination. Seconds later—BOOM! They’ll tumble to the floor in a tangle of chubby toddler limbs.
They did just that.
My mom brain saw that scenario five seconds before it happened; my mom heart thumped like lead when it did because, amid their uncertain laughter (then their very certain crying), I remembered my two boys are a decade older than the little pair I’m looking at now.
Excuse me as I cry-hiccup into my cold brew.
Fellow parents out there, remember the days when we lugged overstuffed diaper bags while curling car seats that held our day-napping babies? To boot, we death-gripped the hands of our 2-year-olds. Why? Because in their world, they were competing in the 100-yard dash (finish line: the daycare entrance. Track: the parking lot).
Ten years later, our children are packing their own bags while we make sure they put on extra deodorant. They have schedules, homework, passions . . . and attitudes. Their annoyed side-eye hints at their teenage selves, while an hour later, they want us there at bedtime until the very moment they drift off to sleep.
Do we talk about this stage enough? This “middle” of sorts? This time when you oscillate between hero and embarrassment in a moment? You can still hear an echo of that toddler twinkle in their laugh—you can feel it in your soul. And yet, that mature self-reflection he shares after a difficult day sparks your curiosity. You steal a side glance at his chiseled profile as you both ride in the front seat, and you wonder: What will he face? What will he choose? Who will he be?
No need to future-trip and no need to mourn little fingers and toes of the past. Like every phase, this one will come with its beautiful ups and downs. And those two cuties in this tiny coffee shop are a reminder that staying present is the best gift we will ever give our children.
To all the middle-aged moms out there: we’re in a beautiful stage. Let’s embrace the next decade (and rejoice no longer paying infant-room tuition).
Originally published on the author’s Substack
by Amy Keyes 
by Jess Litterell 
