These early years with my girls.
I often think about how my little ones will have no recollection of this time. Thousands upon thousands upon thousands of moments that have changed me in an indelible way, yet them? They won’t even remember any of it.
These early years when I have aged more than I have slept, and they’ll not retain a moment of it. When I dwell on that, it kind of devastates me, you know?
I mean, motherhood has wreaked havoc on my mind, body, soul, time, money—my everything. It only seems fair that it should impact them too, right?
It’s easy to feel overwhelmed with the day in, day out monotony that dominates these early days of motherhood. It’s easy to feel discouraged when everything you do gets undone. When chores you have just completed already beg to be done again.
But the thing about raising littles is it’s kind of like gardening. Now, I should preface this by saying I’m no gardening expert. I’m also not a parenting expert. In fact, I’m not an expert in anything, so, well, this could get a bit awkward. Disclaimer: I have yet to keep a house plant alive.
Anyway. It takes a long time, years sometimes, before a tree begins to produce fruit. There is so much growth and development and foundation laying that happens in the early years. There is so much tending that needs to be done.
A mustard seed is so incredibly tiny, it’s hard to believe it can grow into a formidable plant.
Raising my kids? Same principle. Thankfully, unlike my failed attempts to keep house plants alive, the mini humans are doing well. Thriving even.
Even though they won’t remember the exact memories of these early years, I know I’m shaping the frame of the very women they will become.
The more I invest into their hearts and minds, the better I am setting them up to be confident young women.
So I try not to get too discouraged when the days start to merge and blend together. When I have to teach the same lesson a hundred times over. When I have to wipe up the same spills and wash the same clothes day in, day out. I try to remember that these ordinary days, these are so important.
These are shaping days. Foundation days. Watering the seed and tending to the garden days. And even if my kids won’t retain the memories of these early days, they will know they were so loved. As they grow into beautiful young women, the fruit will begin to grow and show evidence of the care that went into its foundations.
And me? My girls may not remember these early years but I certainly won’t forget. These are the days that are the making of them, but they’re also the making of me, too.
Previously published on the author’s Facebook page