I find myself longing for the company of friends, but surprisingly, it’s not as intense as I had imagined. While I still have friends, the nature of those relationships has changed significantly. With two little ones under six, most of my interactions happen through text messages. Rarely do I engage in phone calls, and actual face-to-face meetings are even scarcer.
When I welcomed my second daughter, I envisioned a life filled with playdates and outings, imagining it to be similar to the time I spent with my first child. However, things didn’t quite unfold that way. Breastfeeding my newborn became a challenge, especially in noisy environments, making restaurant visits impractical. Invitations from friends to hang out dwindled, and I found myself striving to maintain normalcy for my oldest while grappling with the additional demands of a second child.
Over time, however, I noticed a shift. Gradually, I became comfortable taking my kids out for lunch or grocery shopping, and we ventured beyond the confines of our living room. To be fair, I still save the more significant errands for weekends when we can all go as a family. Activities like grocery runs or apple picking have transformed into Saturday adventures rather than solo weekday missions.
Somewhere along this journey, my daughters developed a bond. Just two days ago, I watched them sitting together, their knees touching and heads huddled in a heart shape, whispering excitedly about their favorite TV show. Despite the age difference, they play remarkably well together. In fact, my toddler has had a few emotional meltdowns when missing her big sister, pleading with me to pick her up from school.
In many ways, having two kids has become easier than managing one. I can take quick showers without the constant worry that something might happen to my children. If there’s an issue, they now come running, saying “uh oh,” which provides me a bit of relief.
As I navigate this winding path of motherhood, I’ve grown accustomed to the chaos of raising two young girls. The four years I spent with just my oldest seem like cherished memories I hold onto tightly. I know these “Mom of Little Kids” years, despite their challenges, have been some of the most rewarding of my life, and I’m mindful of their fleeting nature.
Recently, I spoke with a stranger at a restaurant while out with my daughters. I mentioned that had I known how wonderful sibling relationships could be, I might have been less hesitant to expand our family sooner. But I wouldn’t change a thing; I adore my girls and treasure the time I had alone with my firstborn. This spacing allows me to relish some quiet moments with my second before she too heads off to school.
Yet, my daughters are not my friends. While I want them to enjoy my company, I’m still their parent. I genuinely need friends in my life. However, my time is limited. I make an effort to practice self-care through exercise, reading, and writing—activities that nurture my well-being—but I recognize that I have just a handful of years to cherish this season of motherhood.
Before I know it, my husband and I will bid farewell to diapers and sleepless nights, finding ourselves in a new normal where we no longer care for little ones. I don’t want to rush through these years, even if some days feel overwhelming. I want to be present for those moments when my daughter calls me “Mom” instead of “Mommy,” a subtle sign of her growing up.
I do miss my friends. With my sister’s wedding approaching, I’m brainstorming ways to plan a bachelorette party amidst bedtime routines and early mornings. I miss the lengthy chats with friends who live far away, and the movie dates that my husband wouldn’t typically join. Yet, the longing isn’t as profound as I expected.
Somewhere along the line, motherhood has transformed from a role that consumes my identity into something that feels fulfilling. For now, being a mom is enough.