So God Made a Mother Collection ➔

To know these pigtails is to know the sassiness they represent.

Underneath those two personality sticks is YOU . . . my 2-year-old who uses them as her “get out of jail free” pass when you’re busted committing your daily mischief. 

You know when used together with your ear-to-shoulder-head-tilt, and your big cheesy grin, you’re likely to mesmerize me with your cuteness to make me forget about what rule you have just broken. 

Whether it’s drawing all over a basement door, secretly tripping your brother, or showing up at my feet after using your markers as pretend makeup . . . it’s hard to get mad at those pigtails.

And you know it. 

Because you are the baby of the family

The one we are (99 percent) sure is the round-out of our little family.

The one we all sit around and watch . . . simply to be entertained at your level of goofiness. The one who thinks you’re older than you are because your older two siblings teach you everything they know. The one who screams as loud as you can at the dinner table until you fold over in belly laughter . . . while your dad and I try to hide our own and hope the other one can be serious enough to ask you to stop. 

You are so strong in personality and firm in independence that I almost feel like I shouldn’t table it . . . knowing it will serve you well later in life. But in the same breath I worry if I don’t reel you in,  you’ll be a rebel for life. 

Then, as if you can see that battle in my brain, you will start offering random hugs, blowing kisses, saying I love you, belly laughing with pure joy, breaking out into an adorable song, or reciting your favorite prayer. 

And suddenly those bouncing pigtails and innocent voice make me forget what I was supposed to be mad at you for in the first place.

Yes. You get away with a lot.

But you’re the baby. The last baby. 

The last one to complete the milestones

The last one to want to be rocked. The last one to sleep in the crib. The last one to lay in my arms and drink milk from a sippy cup. The last one to wear footie pajamas. The last one to have your first day of preschool. 

The one who makes me grasp the perspective that all of this mischief will be a funny memory one day. A one day I know isn’t far away thanks to a generation above me who has warned JUST HOW FAST it will go.

How quickly those tiny pigtails of yours will become a long ponytail swinging out there on the basketball court. How before I know it I’ll be curling it for you as you get ready for your first homecoming dance. Then I’ll blink, and I’ll see it beautifully styled underneath the veil your dad will lift at the end of the aisle . . . before it turns into a “haven’t-showered-in-four-days” bun on top of your head . . . as you put those tiny pigtails on YOUR baby.

Or maybe not.

Because I don’t know what’s to come for you.

I don’t know what choices you’ll make or what dreams you’ll have for yourself or what experiences will come your way.

Which is why all my heart can bear to focus on is the now.

And right now your innocence melts my heart as quickly as your determination to test my patience wears it down.

And it’s worth all of it.

I know you and those pigtails will go on to be something wonderful to the world one day . . . the way you bring something wonderful to our family. And I just want to be present in every moment on your journey to getting there . . . while secretly hoping “there” doesn’t get here too fast.

You might also like:

Because One Day, She Will Have to Walk Away

Why Tired Mothers Stay Up So Late

To My Last Born Child – This is It

Want more stories of love, family, and faith from the heart of every home, delivered straight to you? Sign up here! 

Brea Schmidt

Brea Schmidt is a writer, speaker and photographer who aims to generate authentic conversation about motherhood and daily life on her blog, The Thinking Branch. Through her work, she aims to empower people to overcome their fears and insecurities and live their truth. She and her husband raise their three children in Pittsburgh, PA.

I’ll Never Be Ready for My Son To Let Go of Me

In: Motherhood, Tween
Tween boy and mom

The arts-and-crafts tote overflowed with cylinders of petrified Play-Doh, crispy-bristled paintbrushes, and Elmer’s glue bottles with clogged applicator tips. Underneath it sat a stack of spiral notebooks with homework from previous years: simple fractions, facts about fossils and chlorophyll, vocabulary words neatly written on blue lines. Star Wars characters were sporadically doodled in the margins.  None of its contents had been touched in years. Yet, the very second I tipped it upside down into the garbage dumpster—unwittingly blasting a flume of silver glitter into the garage ceiling—I felt deep, aching sadness and enormous regret.  When did fuzzy pipe-cleaners become nostalgia-worthy?...

Keep Reading

To the Emotional Mom of a High School Senior, Enjoy It

In: Grown Children, Motherhood, Teen
Teen girl in graduation gown, color photo

Dear moms of high school seniors, I see your posts on social media, and I sense your excitement, mixed with anxiety and a bit of sadness (if we are being completely honest). I notice your photos of all the lasts, and I celebrate your child’s accomplishments with you. I see you, and I know you because I have been you, twice now.  I feel the almost palpable sinking feeling that hits in the pit of your stomach when you think about them moving on to the next stage. How is it possible they have grown from such a tiny, helpless...

Keep Reading

I Know My Friends Aren’t Bothered by My Messy House, but I Am

In: Friendship, Living, Motherhood
Sad woman by laundry pile

My house screams at me. It screams to clear off the kitchen counters, to put away the clean clothes, to organize the shoe collection in our entry, to gather up the scattered toys, to sweep the crumbs up, to place the throw pillows back on the couch, to clean off the table—you get the idea. Everything in my sight speaks volumes to the state it does not want to be in, for the chaos it is imposing.  Keeping home is a labor of love and never of balance for me. Everything that is cleaned, made, or organized will always get...

Keep Reading

Dear Preschool Teachers, I’m Going to Miss You So Much

In: Child, Motherhood
preschool teacher sitting with kids on her lap

Dear preschool teachers, There’s just no other way to say this— I’m going to miss you so much. You are the first adults outside of our family to spend your days with my children, and watching your relationships grow and develop this year has been the most bittersweet privilege. I’m going to miss the bright smiles that light up your faces every time my kids come bounding toward you on good days, and how tenderly you hold their little hands and guide them away from me on the tough ones. RELATED: Dear Preschool Graduate, I’m So Proud of You I’m...

Keep Reading

Don’t Let Anyone Rush You, Mama

In: Kids, Motherhood
Mother with two kids at home relaxing

From the moment our children are born, other people make it challenging to stay in the present moment—they start asking questions that look forward instead of at the now we are in. Can you believe how big she’s getting, where did your newborn go? Oh my goodness, he’ll be walking any day now! Are you thinking about preschool? What will you do when they’re both in school? What will you do when your baby goes to college? While these questions may come with good intentions, they’re not helpful at all. We moms need to be allowed to be fully in...

Keep Reading

There Are a Million Reasons Being a Mom Is Hard

In: Motherhood
Overwhelmed mom with child at home

Being a mom is hard.   The endless messes to clean up. The sleepless nights and sticky fingers touching everywhere. The meal prep, the nap schedule, the tantrums, the kitchen sink overflowing with dishes . . . oh, the dishes.   And then as they get older, there’s managing all the activities and the carpooling. The homework you can’t figure out. (Are you smarter than a 5th grader? The answer is no, no I’m not.)   The endless to-do list and the pressure to always put someone else’s needs before your own.  No doubt, it’s hard being a mom. But that is the obvious stuff....

Keep Reading

You Are So Much More than the Doubts in Your Head

In: Living, Motherhood
Little girl looking out window, color photo

Keep pushing. Push through every doubt the enemy instills in your mind.  Push through the depression. Push through the worrisome moments. Push through that anxiety that won’t let you win.  You’ve got to keep going. Keep moving forward.  You are a great mother. You are a great wife. You are a great employee and an even better friend.  RELATED: Struggling With Mental Health Makes You a Bad Mom—And Other Lies I’ve Believed Don’t get stuck in the same spot that depression has led you and those thoughts that say you aren’t good enough or worthy enough.  You are.  God says...

Keep Reading

Motherhood Is Hard Because You’re Doing It Right

In: Motherhood
mother holding young child

Before having children, I had a very romanticized idea of motherhood. Sure, I knew it would be hard. But I visualized the beautiful moments ahead: cuddling in bed with my baby in the mornings, sharing favorite books at bedtime, exploring the seashore, and jumping in puddles. I thought I would feel competent and purposeful, and yes, love every moment. What a reality check I was in for.  As a stay-at-home mom to a 3-year-old and a baby, those amazing moments felt few and far between. I felt utterly dragged down by the monotony of it all—not by the moments with...

Keep Reading

Just the Three of Us

In: Motherhood
Mother and father holding hands with daughter as they walk, color photo

On the eve of my daughter’s seventh birthday, I leaned against her doorway watching her sleep so peacefully. I roamed around my home admiring her baby photos and our little family. I blinked and my baby is growing up, and yet, the five years it took to have her felt like a decade. I remind my little girl she is a miracle when she requests a sibling. How do I explain that my body has officially retired when I couldn’t accept it myself? I was first diagnosed with endometriosis at the age of 19 and was informed I had a...

Keep Reading

Dear Child, God Sees All of You—And So Do I

In: Faith, Kids, Motherhood
Mom and young son painting together

Math has always come easily to him. Even from the beginning stages when we counted wooden blocks on the living room floor, the numbers just came to him. “How many blocks are there?” I asked him, pointing to the scattered row of blocks. I expected him to count them. He was only three or four years old. “Six,” he answered promptly. “Yes . . . but how did you know that?” I asked hesitantly. He had not taken the time necessary to have counted them. “Three and three are six,” he replied. And on it went. The math came easily,...

Keep Reading