3 AM Feedings
I cried myself to sleep this morning.
Right now, in my bathroom are three orphaned kittens that I’m bottle-feeding, which means waking up every three hours in the night to take care of them. At 3:45 this morning, after their little bellies were filled and bottoms wiped, I crawled back into bed, remembering what it was to take care of my children when they were little, and I was struck by how fast time moves and how little I noticed its passing.
Like many of you reading this, when my babies were born, the older women in my life told me, “Treasure these moments; they go by so fast.” And like many of you, I laughed their warnings off, because 3 AM feedings feel like they will go on forever. Then there’s teething and tantrums.
As I lay down in bed early this morning, I looked over at my youngest, who opted to sleep on a small mattress by my bedside last night. She’s now the same age my oldest was when I had her. When my oldest was seven, she was too big to sleep beside my bed, or so I thought. She is about to turn fourteen; my middle child is about to turn twelve. I don’t have babies anymore.
In four short years, my first child will be an adult. Every day she amazes me with her empathy and creativity, her tenacity for fairness and equality. I sit back some days and wonder how she became the woman I see her growing into because it all feels like a blur. What happened to tea parties and finger painting and midnight snuggles to chase away bad dreams? Where have those years fled?
I am the oldest child in my family. For years I thought my mother preferred my younger sister to me because she doted on her, but now I know. You see, few people know what they have with their first child. They may marvel at them at their birth, but then they get bogged down with all the mundane tasks of parenthood. They’re touched out and worn thin, feeling as if they will never make it through. Then the whirlwind finally settles, and they are left with an almost grown human being. If there are other children, over time parents learn to relish the chaos, to stand still in its midst and marvel at it.
That’s where I found myself this morning as I watched my youngest sleep, her no-longer-baby hands clutching her stuffed cat. It felt like I was desperately grabbing for the last dust motes of childhood, trying to bottle them all up and preserve that moment.
So, to you, dear young mother, who is reading this as you rock your colicky baby, take heart. You probably will scoff at these words like so many eons of mothers before you, but these days and nights do not last forever. They are as fleeting as the rose gold of dawn. If you can, humor an older mother for a moment, hold that little one a bit longer and let yourself fully connect with them. Be in that moment. Study the way their eyelashes flutter in their sleep or the way their chubby fingers clutch your gown. Drink in the smell of baby soap and milk breath. Frame each of those things in the hall of your mind.
I love the people my children are today. I love being able to talk with them, laugh at their witty jokes, and discuss the deeper issues of life, so please, don’t think that I’m saying each stage won’t have its blessings. Perhaps that’s the beauty of love. Everyone we will ever love in this life is changing, our children, our spouses, our friends, even ourselves. Next year none of you will be the same people you were today. Some, sadly, will not be there at all. So savor today.
And if the beauty of it overwhelms you, let yourself cry. A few bittersweet tears never hurt anyone.
