Tonight, as I tried to push through a relentless migraine, I found myself lost in thought. The kids had been loud, their energy uncontainable, and they refused to settle down despite my pleas. I felt frustrated—annoyed by the constant questions and requests, the endless giggles and chatter, and the interruptions as I spoke to their father. But then, a realization hit me: one day, I’m going to miss the very things that overwhelm me now.

I’m going to miss Ellie asking if I like her drawing.

I’m going to miss Abbie’s Barbies scattered across the floor as I listen to her imaginative play.

I’m going to miss them asking me to help with their homework—just so they can earn lunch bunch on Friday.

I’m going to miss the markers, crayons, and endless artwork covering the counters and tables.

I’m going to miss Abbie requesting her Hershey’s chocolate bar and chocolate kiss combination, to take with her “life medicine” in their morning. 

I’m going to miss them sneaking into my room at night when they can’t sleep.

I’m going to miss reminding them—again—to turn down their iPad or TV volume when those insane YouTube videos play.

I’m going to miss Brenna quietly emerging from her room just to sit next to me on the couch and watch a movie.

I’m going to miss Brenna magically forgetting to empty her lunchbox after school or her sending me text messages to buy items in her SHEIN cart. 

I’m going to miss the little things—the showers, the late-night water requests, the bedtime routines and tuck-ins, the tiny clothes to fold, the endless “Mom, guess what?” moments.

Their childhood feels slow, yet it moves so fast that, in the blink of an eye, their once-simple sentences will sound so grown-up. They already do. 

Before I know it, they’ll be telling me about the boy they like, asking for college and job advice, or searching for the perfect wedding dress.

So, Mama, take a moment. Pause. Breathe.

Even when it’s exhausting to listen to their every thought spoken aloud, one day, the house will be too quiet. One day, you’ll find yourself longing to hear “Mama” repeated a hundred times.

Because they are only little once.