The stories we’ll wish we wrote down
There’s a moment in motherhood when you finally exhale. Not because the laundry’s done (it never is), or because dinner didn’t end in tears (yours or theirs). But because your baby — your sweet, confusing, sleep-fighting baby — has been sleeping through the night. Not once. Not by accident. But for real. A few nights turns into a week. Then a month. But then, just as the ground feels solid again – 3:00 AM. A blood-curdling scream. Out of nowhere.
“Why don’t fish get wrinkly in water?” You blink. Pause. Stall. “What do you think?” It buys you approximately six seconds. Because they’re still staring at you like you’re Google with a snack drawer. One day, without warning, your child starts asking questions like a tiny philosopher in pajamas.
Not the Cute One. The 47th One That Day. The first time your toddler says “No”? Let’s be real — it’s kind of adorable. They say it with a goofy grin, maybe a wobble in their voice. You try not to laugh. It’s like watching a puppy bark at its reflection. But then one day, “No” isn’t cute anymore. It’s loud. It’s constant. It’s weaponized.