4:30am

"You'll miss these days."

That's what everyone says. I think it's easier to say that once you're past the stage of having littles, fully rested with the ability to think clearly and have perspective. Honestly, I'd love to ask someone who says this if they would go back and do it over again. Maybe some would (if they were old enough, or wanted their youth back). I'd be willing to bet most would not, when faced with the reality of having to go back to the stages of immense neediness and helplessness, sleepless and broken up nights, and butt wiping. Sleep deprivation. diapers. Isolation. Baggage. Putting yourself on the backburner, always. Not having a moment's peace during the day. Inability to carry a conversation with anyone, including spouse, for longer than a minute. The constant whining, dishes and laundry. Having to pay a babysitter so you can drink a coffee while walking around Target for an hour. Or take a nap lay awake in bed feeling guilty because you're paying someone for the ability to attempt sleep while your child cries for you in the other room.

I know it's all perspective. The great moments far outweigh the struggles, and just like when you leave someone you were in love with, at the end of the day it's not the struggles that stay on the mind but the good things. The nostalgic things. When you look back you see what you miss, and wonder why you ever wished it to be over. You wonder why you didn't appreciate it fully, and the challenges seem petty in comparison with the joy that the good parts have forever imprinted on your heart.

Ten years from now, I'm not going to be thinking about diapers and sleepless nights and whining.

I'm going to be remembering sweet, chubby cheeks and soft, kissable lips. I'm going to remember the sweet sound of "ma-ma" and the stumbled walking into my arms as they're learning to walk. I'm going to remember the giggles and laughter. The innocence and easy forgiveness when I'm a less than perfect parent. I'll miss the toys strewn about the floor, signs of life, laughter, health and imagination. When my children are older and more humbled by a world that can sometimes get them down, I'll miss their simple excitement of getting a slushie at the gas station.

I'll miss their stories about animals and superheroes, and their determination to become a scientist or firefighter, or whatever their little heart dreams up in the moment. I'll miss checking on them at night before I go to bed and see their sweet sleeping face, and I'll miss the feeling of gratefulness that they're still little enough for me to protect fully. I'll miss bathtime bubbles and convincing them that a green smoothie will actually make their muscles grow bigger. I'll miss going on walks and dressing them how I want. I'll miss reading them books. I'll miss them trusting that I can make their problems go away. Holding them. Snuggling them. Comforting them.

That is what I will remember when it's all over. And I will miss these days.

Lindsay