Going for walks, pushing them on the swings at the park, reading to them every night, picking out their clothes.

OMG - the cuddling. And the portability - I miss how easy it was to keep them safe, yank them out of danger, protect them from the news, etc...

I miss the things I forgot to document well - the tiny voices, giggles, adorably misspoken words or botched sentences.

I miss being the center of their world - able to fix almost anything with a hug and a kiss.

I miss how much joy others took in them. We have twins so the whole twin thing was a lot of fun for grandparents, older neighbors, etc...

I miss the ease of not having to negotiate everything with them!

I miss naps! I would nap when they did and I REALLY miss being able to justify that these days.

And everything else everyone has said here...

Also though, I remember how hard those years were - the endless, exhausting slog of it. The constancy of the need. The danger of new runners with no regard for caution. The endless opinions of everyone about sleep schedules, discipline, eating, etc... The lack of sleep. The clothes that were alway being spat up on or grabbed with sticky hands. The inability to have an adult conversation without advance scheduling. The documenting of the minutia of life for any sitter. The way our lives were circumscribed by nap time or bathroom breaks. Potty training - the worst for me!

So there's a lot I don't miss. And there is a lot to cherish about the stage we're in now and a lot I won't miss about this either.

Take pictures. Take video. Write the cute stuff down. And forgive yourself - every single day - from now on.

Anonymous wrote:
Maybe if you tell me what you miss, I can try to pay attention to it, and embed some nice memories into my brain to enjoy later. Maybe for a moment or two it will feel less hard.

I'm sorry this is feeling so hard right now. The "cherish every moment" squad has really done a number on moms. Not every moment is cherishable. But if you can find a little sweetness in every day, without feeling as though that's supposed to totally outweigh the crappy stuff, it may help get you through.

I loved watching my kids learn to be kind -- to each other, to other people, to animals, to inanimate objects. They're still nice, but it doesn't feel as magical as watching the wheels turn, and it was a relief that some of the nice things they said were things I'd said to them (I am not the most patient person, and I worried a lot that I was giving them a terrible childhood).

Anonymous wrote:

Anonymous wrote:Their wonder and curiosity, especially over simple everyday things. How something as simple as bubbles is magical to them.

Omg this is so true. I’m the OP. My 1 yo is constantly saying “wooooow” to everything he sees. Like a bird. Or a ball. Or rain. And he wants me to say woooooow too, and if I don’t, he will repeat himself louder and louder until I join him in being amazed at whatever he is looking at.

OP, I came here to say sense of wonder as well. There is so much joy in watching them discovering new things at that age. Even if not a discovery, there is a joyful appreciation that is unmatched. There's also the funny things they say.

OP, you and others with young kids are in a difficult place. Little kids are wonderful, but with COVID worry and restrictions, it must be difficult to have so much time with them yet such little ability to really get out there in the world. I completely understand. I'm not going to tell you to enjoy every minutes because there lot of minutes every day when you were home with little kids.

Their constant need for you is a blessing and a curse. I'm sure that sometimes it feels suffocating, but enjoy it. As a PP said, you will miss it when you are forever correcting their eye rolls.

I'm on the other side with teens, and I feel like I am begging my kids to spend time with me. . Last weekend I watched one of those horrible immature boy comedies that I hate just to do something my boys wanted to do. I'm constantly nagging one about video games and the other about college application stuff. Sometimes I even hate myself.

There is good and bad at every age, but try to enjoy the sweet, innocent newness of your children while you can.

I would

The way their little hands are so tiny and sweet when you're holding hands. The way a 10 cent piece of candy makes them sooooo happy. How proud they are when they learn to do something new.

Anonymous wrote:I love how they still think I'm perfect and that I'm the best thing ever. And all the kisses!!! Maybe my daughters will hug and kiss me when they grow up, but I know sons don't. And how soft their skin is as babies.

Have faith! They do, and they will.

TBH, I didn't love those years. I'm one of those parents who has enjoyed the ride more as the kids have gotten older -- even the teen years, yes. But one thing I loved and that my kids still remember with pleasure is that every night the whole family cuddled on our "big bed" and read books. My youngest is now in college and the oldest in medical school and all three have done a thorough culling of their childhood bedrooms as DH and I prepare to downsize, but each one chose to keep so many of their childhood books.

Ah the snuggles. Nothing better than a tiny person snuggling you totally unselfconsciously. I get it- it’s exhausting and sometimes you get touched out. But those sweet little snuggles are honestly the best.

OP, I recently realized that I no longer wish the days would hurry up and pass. My kids are 3.5 and almost 6. Now that my oldest is just about 6 and is getting so big, I miss being able to hold him more easily. I always make him promise that he will snuggle me even when he's an adult, and so far he has agreed.

They both still adore me and I am holding onto it while it lasts. I recently realized that no one else will likely be as obessively smitten with me, for the rest of my life, as they are right now...

I love how they still think I'm perfect and that I'm the best thing ever. And all the kisses!!! Maybe my daughters will hug and kiss me when they grow up, but I know sons don't. And how soft their skin is as babies.

Mine aren't that much older but I miss how generally sweet and manageable they were, in comparison to tween snarkiness. To kids that age, you're the world, and while that's exhausting, particularly right now, it also means they're not upset over missing friends, activities, etc. But to be that person to a little kid is such a gift.

I wish I'd been more chill when they were difficult at that age. Whole Brain Child is a great read and, again, one I wish I'd read when my kids were those ages. But then, those are indeed hard years, as PPs note, and hindsight is 20/20.

I honestly miss nothing, except how cute my kids were in photos. Those were HARD years. It gets so much better.

This is such a sweet thread. I'm sorry you're struggling, OP, but i'm tearing up reading these. My youngest is 9 and I'm just starting to accept that I won't have a sleepy child curled up on my lap with a blankie and a book anymore.

+1 to puddle stomping! Such fun.

The unrestrained peals of laughter when they were delighted with something. No sense of being self conscious about their emotions.

Seeing a rainbow. Talk about a "wooooowww" moment.

1 and 4 were the hardest ages, no doubt. They are so needy, so unable to regulate or even express their emotions. I'm glad we made it through them . But there are moments worth treasuring, even in the thickest fog of toddler-raising.

I miss being the best thing ever (except for those many times I was the meanest thing ever). I know it would be creepy to produce adults who still want to be with me all day, every day, but I wish I had appreciated it more at the time, rather than feeling like I was on full alert all the time so they wouldn't wander into traffic or land on their heads, and doing so during nonstop talking that meant my thoughts were constantly evaporating.

I miss reading to someone snuggled up in my lap. I miss carrying a sleeping kid whose head rested on my shoulder. I miss their full-bodied joy in things. I miss being able to fix things that worried them.

I miss chatting with them about what we see all day ( birds and airplanes outside, etc..); it took me years to stop saying, ‘Hello cute little squirrel,” when I’d walk the neighborhood alone. I miss holding their sweet, soft hands. I miss their red cheeks when they’d first wake up. I miss the complete and total trust - just putting their hand up high as we reached a street or stairs, knowing without looking that mine would be there. I miss when they were just a little bit sick and they’d be so warm and tired and snuggly. I miss the miracle of witnessing them learning to communicate - words, sentences, ideas...... I miss holding them. I miss reading to them. I miss how much they loved me.