Remember those first few years of mommyhood? I do. I was tired. Busy.  But that phase had a magical rhythm.  I had figured it out.  Sort of.  Many an afternoon was spent heading to the park with Big Guy and Little Guy.  Armed with sippy cups, pacifiers, and goldfish.  Watching their eyes light up as they discovered they could slide down a slide or walk on a small balance beam.  

I would stand in arms distance of my boys with the other new moms.  If we happened to speak, we were likely comparing notes and milestones.  And although we casually competed for the “my baby is sweeter than your baby” award, we became teammates when we glanced across the playground and spotted the future with absolutely no eager anticipation:  The old moms.

Mind you, many of the old moms could have been chronologically younger than me. But they had older kids.  Hence, the label.  And their children were big. Scary.  They ran around.  They were dirty.  Barefoot with feet blackened by dirt and grass.  Loud in an obnoxious way.  Sloppily dressed.   Wild.  They would climb on top of slides.  Swing from random bars not for swinging.  Burp.  Throw their juice boxes and miss the trash.  Chase each other right in front of my precious little boys, stirring up enough sand to get in their eyes.  

Those kids terrified me.  I couldn’t imagine a time when my sweet little boys would be capable of that much mayhem.  That much mess.  That phase had to be absolutely horrible.  No wonder the old moms gazed at us with smug smiles.  Their look almost condescending.  As if they knew so much more. I chalked it up to jealousy.  Perhaps they longed to be back in my phase. A phase where the children were still delicious.  

Fast forward. Six years later.  I watch Big Guy and Little Guy run around the park. No shoes?  Of course not.  No jackets?  They don’t get cold.  Dirty? So dirty that some days it is two bath minimum. Fingernail brushes are mandatory.  Smelly? Everything about them stinks when they come in from outside. Articles of clothing are directly deposited to the laundry room.  Loud?  I sometimes have to hide in a closet to have a telephone conversation.  Rude?  Eye rolling is a staple.

I have gotten exactly what I had dreaded.  Not once but twice. But what I didn’t expect was that this new phase, complete with intentional farting, burping, and other obnoxious behavior, could surpass that peaceful, park time phase.  How could that be?  

It’s because our children always have a silver lining.  So although every phase is a combination of happy, sweet, meaningful milestones and hard fought struggles, we tend to focus on the good first and downplay the bad.

So all those years ago, when comparing baby notes with those new moms at the park, or even  now, when I recall those moments, my initial memories are void of the tedious realism they actually included.  Let’s, for a minute, really remember the first three years.  

Yes, there was park fun.  And I figured out how to meet every need that Little Guy and Big Guy had.  But what about the parts of the phase that seemed never ending? Torturous?  It’s coming back to me now.  Sleepless nights, crying it out, getting rid of the pacifier, food throwing from the high chair, crying in the car seat.  And one of my all time favorites - potty training.  

Then the preschool phase.  Happy memories first.  Little Guy and Big Guy wanting to hug and kiss me goodbye. Learning. Making their first friends.  I seemed to have mentally blocked Little Guy’s “hitting and kicking his classmates” phase.  And Big Guy’s “social anxiety” phase followed closely by the “temper tantrums whenever he lost” phase.  Hmmm.  How convenient.

So here I sit in the stinky phase.  Maybe I do need to check them for ticks and soak their socks in bleach every night.  Maybe I do have to battle with homework and talking back.  Maybe my heart aches as they slowly but surely try and eliminate me from their public life.  But sometimes, when we are alone, we giggle until we cry.  I get to watch from the sidelines as they play with their friends, interact with their classmates and hang with their teammates.  When they read a book, work on a project or play in the cul-de-sac.  All of a sudden, I have insights to who they will be.  In that moment, I can’t even remember the bad smells or constant battles. The stinky phase becomes fabulous.

I mistook the look.  All those years ago at the park.  Those older moms didn’t mean to look smug or condescending.  It was just the opposite.  They were looking, longing to tell me that it only gets better.  But they wouldn’t speak of it because they knew I wouldn’t have believed it.

I only understand now because I have become the old mom.  And while I still have much to learn, there’s no need to dread what’s ahead.

Illyse appears every Thursday on TriangleMom2Mom.