If you scroll down far enough on my Instagram profile, my page used to be filled with perfectly aesthetic photos of my two daughters when they were young. They were the cutest little things, and I used to have the best time dressing them in matching outfits with handmade bows. And that’s where the fun stopped.
Don’t get me wrong, I love my children, and I cherish memories of their cute gummy smiles and extra nap snuggles. And, of course, those were the moments captured on my social media highlight reel. However, the majority of my days were filled with crippling anxiety, postpartum rage, exhaustion that literally no one can prepare you for, and feeling trapped inside a mind and body I did not recognize. The crying was nonstop—both my children’s and my own—and every scream triggered me in ways I never expected.
I longed for my kids to get older and wanted to move past the frequent tantrums over what felt like the smallest things. I was eager for our conversations to migrate from “Watch this, mommy!” to something a bit more mature. Most of all, I ached for the days when I used my brain in a more adult way and did everything I could to steal moments of autonomy.
Sometimes, I attempted to share my true feelings on social media rather than just maintain my highlight reel. But whenever I did, my comment section was filled with messages to “cherish this moment because you’ll miss it when it’s gone,” which only ever left me with immense guilt for not enjoying it rather than actually helping to shift my perspective. Would I really miss these years? I wasn’t convinced I would. But I surely felt extra guilt for thinking: When will parenting get easier?
The days are long, but the early years are short (thank goodness!)
There’s one comment I often received that turned out to be true: you’ll blink, and the little years will be over. When you’re in the thick of the baby and toddler years, it feels like you can blink repeatedly, wishing for something to change, and it doesn’t. But before you know it, that little 2-year-old becomes a 5-year-old and then a 9-year-old, and it will feel like you literally blinked.
My kids are 7 and 9 now, and I’m here to tell you—to give you permission, really—to exhale when you do finally blink. Now that I’m on the other side of the baby and toddler years, I can confidently say that I do not miss the little years. Not even a little bit. It’s OK if you don’t, either.
“I can confidently say that I do not miss the little years. Not even a little bit. It’s OK if you don’t, either.”
The baby and toddler years were hard
If you need permission to long for your kids to get older without guilt, here it is. (Imagine me handing you a physical permission slip over cappuccino at a cozy coffee shop that you managed to slip away to for a few hours.) The little years are hard. Cute, but hard. And contrary to popular belief, they don’t have to be your favorite era of childhood. In fact, you don’t even have to enjoy it. It doesn’t mean that you love your kids any less if there is a phase of parenting you don’t enjoy.
Some parents love the little years but don’t particularly enjoy the older years. And for some reason, that’s more socially acceptable. Complaints about the little years are met with “Just wait until they’re teenagers!” as if teenage-hood is some sort of prison sentence. The truth is, every era of parenthood has its challenges and joys, and we don’t all love the same eras (or every era), and that’s OK.
Because let’s be real—enduring multiple tantrums a day, chronic exhaustion from broken sleep, and a rigid nap schedule is not exactly fun. At least, it’s not my idea of fun.
“The little years are hard. Cute, but hard…it doesn’t mean that you love your kids any less if there is a phase of parenting you don’t enjoy.”
Yes, there is quite a bit of magic during the little years as you watch your babies take their first steps and say their first words. But the wonder doesn’t disappear as they grow—and that’s the common misconception. Everyone says to hang on to the early magic years, as if they’re the only years that contain magic. But if you ask me, every year of childhood is magical. And if we focus on “hanging tight” while they’re little, we may miss just how extraordinary the years that follow are.
What motherhood in the middle years looks like
First, let me set the record straight. I’m not claiming that parenting gets easier in middle childhood. Parenting, especially mothering, is hard no matter what stage you’re in. The challenges simply change. They don’t disappear. Toddler tantrums give way to puberty hormones. Conversations feel weightier as you have to navigate peer pressure, screen time, social media, and more. But the magic? Oh yeah, that’s still there. That’s not going anywhere.
Their imaginations only get bigger
During middle childhood, pretend play is still alive and well—and even more magical. It’s like their brains come alive with more vibrancy—adding more depth and beauty to their imaginations. It’s lovely to watch them develop characters and stories as they discover the outer world with their inner world. I also love that I don’t have to join in on the pretend play anymore. My kids would much rather I leave them alone so they can explore and imagine without their mommy butting in. However, they still love when I’m close by—listening to them develop their stories and smiling from a distance.
One of my favorite things about middle childhood is beginning to share hobbies with my daughters. I’ve introduced them to my favorite sport (tennis) and have since taught them how to play. They are now just as obsessed with the sport as I am, so it’s something we can do together.
We also share a love of reading in our house, and trips to the used bookstore might as well be like Christmas for us. I love helping my daughters discover new books to dive into—especially featuring characters who look like them. It’s a gift to spend quiet weekend mornings with the whole family, cuddling on the couch, listening to jazz music, and getting lost in our latest reads.
Books aren’t the only things we get to share these days. Some of my favorite moments come from introducing my girls to the things that shaped my own childhood. I’ve introduced them to music I enjoyed as a kid—from The Spice Girls to Lil’ Bow Wow to Beyoncé. We have a blast singing and dancing in the kitchen while I make dinner. We also bond over episodes of That’s So Raven, The Proud Family, and Recess while I braid their hair. There’s something so surreal about belting the That’s So Raven theme song at the top of my lungs with my daughters. (🎵If you could gaze into the future, future…🎵)
These are the moments I couldn’t wait for when my girls were born. Of course I knew they would be their own people with their own interests—and I love watching those develop, too—but there is something so magical about introducing your children to something you love and watching them fall in love with it, too.
You watch their world get bigger
Another one of my favorite parts of middle childhood is watching little minds develop into big minds. The ages between 6 and 12 are ripe for cognitive development and critical thinking: opinions form, thoughts deepen, and knowledge broadens, and it’s so exciting watching it all happen. The conversations become richer, and you begin to feel a little less like a caretaker and a little more like you’re getting to know fascinating little humans. (But don’t get it twisted! I’m still not one of their “lil friends!” IYKYK!)
It’s also quite remarkable to watch children hone in on passions, interests, or hobbies they love. These are the ages when kids go from doing after-school activities just for exposure to picking one or two activities to lock in on. The middle years are when identities form and dreams sharpen, which makes being a human so joyful and rewarding.
“The middle years are when identities form and dreams sharpen, which makes being a human so joyful and rewarding.”
They’re still little in all the ways that matter
The innocence we love about the little years is still alive in middle childhood. The twinkle in their eye from toddlerhood hasn’t disappeared. Wonder, imagination, and play are still going strong, with years of childhood innocence still ahead—if we protect it.
Hugs, cuddles, and kisses are still important—if not even more so. My kiddos still ask me for hugs and kisses constantly, and show no embarrassment with showering me with them in return. Even now, both of them still instinctively reach for me. Even though I’m no longer carrying them everywhere, they still need my presence and touch to feel grounded. I’m still their safe space and their favorite person, and I hope to keep it that way.
“Even though I’m no longer carrying them everywhere, they still need my presence and touch to feel grounded.”
Becoming the mom I wanted to be
Now that my children have more independence, share more responsibility, and are developing a greater sense of autonomy, I enjoy motherhood so much more. And I think that has made me a better mom for them. For a while there, I thought I was a monster. I was so depressed and irritable that snapping, yelling, and frequent apologies became an everyday occurrence. I was not the mother I envisioned becoming when my husband and I first decided to grow our family.
The truth is, I wasn’t a monster. I was simply an overwhelmed, under-supported, and utterly exhausted mother to little kids. And that’s hard. While I was searching for relief during those early parenting years, everyone was so busy telling me what I would miss. No one told me what I would gain once my children transitioned to middle childhood. If I had known just how much joy was waiting for me on the other side, I would have carried a little more hope through the hardest days.
“Everyone was so busy telling me what I would miss. No one told me what I would gain once my children transitioned to middle childhood.”
I was the best mother I could be in those little years. I cherished as many moments as I could, and my children are turning into kind, capable, wonderful human beings. But I needed to move through that season to meet the mother—and the woman—I knew I could become.
If that’s true for you, too, it’s OK. You don’t have to love every stage equally to love your children deeply. And if you’re still in the thick of the little years, I hope this gives you something no one gave me: something to look forward to.
It does get better.
Caroline Sumlin, Contributing Writer
Caroline Sumlin is a writer, author, and content creator specializing in topics ranging from self-worth, lifestyle, wellness, motherhood, education, society, and culture. Caroline received her Bachelor of Arts degree in Journalism from Howard University in Washington, DC. Driven by her passion for freedom and justice, Caroline crafts articles that urge readers to reflect more deeply and critically about themselves, their lives, and the world around them.
