It's Just a Phase
My Precious Child,
It's just a phase.
That's what I keep hearing. When I'm frustrated or scared or sad or convinced I'm doing everything wrong as a mother, considerate friends and family members reassure me that, "It's just a phase."
Your temper tantrums at nap time - kicking, screaming, lungeing, clawing. It's a stage. It'll get easier. Stick the plan. Let you cry. I need to keep at it. And I do. But good God it's difficult. Your cry is the saddest sound in the world and it goes against everything in me but it's just a phase.
Your teething pain - the constant groans and whimpers of pain. The drooling. The restlessness. The red rosy cheeks. The helplessness I feel as I try everything I can find to help. Teething rings. Necklaces. Gels. Pain medication. One tooth will finally cut through but another is right behind. We start the process over again. It's just a phase.
Your habit of biting while nursing - the unpredictable pain, the heartbreak of now dreading something that we both used to love, the uncertainty of how much more I could handle. It's just a phase.
Your sadness when I walk out of a room - the look on your face that is so genuinely sad/scared/betrayed that it makes me question why I would ever leave you. The books say separation can be healthy for both of. I know that in my rational mind. But my heart hurts every time I get into my car. I remind myself it's just a phase.
It's a phase. The temper tantrums. The teething. The biting. The separation anxiety. It'll get easier. But then I realize it's not just the trials that are temporary.
It's ALL just a phase. The beautiful, simple moments. The newness. The novelty. The look on your face when you master a new skill. The way your little body curls up on my chest when we cuddle on the couch. The scent of baby shampoo in your hair after a warm bath. The way you giggle at plastic bowls falling off my head or daddy popping up from behind the counter. The softness of your skin, still free from any scars or imperfections. The way your hair sticks up in every direction, as free and unpredictable as your spirit.
These moments won't last. They're just a phase. You will never again be this little. Someday we will have fights over whether or not that car is safe enough // if there will be drinking at the party // when you have to be home // if that mascara is too expensive // if you need to get a job of your own and stop asking for more money. But tonight you're asleep in your crib. Our fights feel like battles together - routines and teething and nursing and anxiety - but I need you to know this, my beautiful girl. I will always be on your team. Even if you "hate" me. I love you. I love you. I love you. And if you ever doubt it... I love you. That's not a phase.
Love Always and Forever,
Mom
It's just a phase.
That's what I keep hearing. When I'm frustrated or scared or sad or convinced I'm doing everything wrong as a mother, considerate friends and family members reassure me that, "It's just a phase."
Your temper tantrums at nap time - kicking, screaming, lungeing, clawing. It's a stage. It'll get easier. Stick the plan. Let you cry. I need to keep at it. And I do. But good God it's difficult. Your cry is the saddest sound in the world and it goes against everything in me but it's just a phase.
Your teething pain - the constant groans and whimpers of pain. The drooling. The restlessness. The red rosy cheeks. The helplessness I feel as I try everything I can find to help. Teething rings. Necklaces. Gels. Pain medication. One tooth will finally cut through but another is right behind. We start the process over again. It's just a phase.
Your sadness when I walk out of a room - the look on your face that is so genuinely sad/scared/betrayed that it makes me question why I would ever leave you. The books say separation can be healthy for both of. I know that in my rational mind. But my heart hurts every time I get into my car. I remind myself it's just a phase.
It's a phase. The temper tantrums. The teething. The biting. The separation anxiety. It'll get easier. But then I realize it's not just the trials that are temporary.
It's ALL just a phase. The beautiful, simple moments. The newness. The novelty. The look on your face when you master a new skill. The way your little body curls up on my chest when we cuddle on the couch. The scent of baby shampoo in your hair after a warm bath. The way you giggle at plastic bowls falling off my head or daddy popping up from behind the counter. The softness of your skin, still free from any scars or imperfections. The way your hair sticks up in every direction, as free and unpredictable as your spirit.
These moments won't last. They're just a phase. You will never again be this little. Someday we will have fights over whether or not that car is safe enough // if there will be drinking at the party // when you have to be home // if that mascara is too expensive // if you need to get a job of your own and stop asking for more money. But tonight you're asleep in your crib. Our fights feel like battles together - routines and teething and nursing and anxiety - but I need you to know this, my beautiful girl. I will always be on your team. Even if you "hate" me. I love you. I love you. I love you. And if you ever doubt it... I love you. That's not a phase.
Love Always and Forever,
Mom
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