To be crying at this

[appledoors]

I saw it on TikTok, then noticed it shared on Facebook too. I usually hate soppy sentimental crap but the fact that I am that exact age (32) right now (and very PMS-y) and I don’t know it just hit a nerve 😭

…………….

I'm 80 years old, and somehow..

I woke up in my 32 year old body.

Just for one day.

I wake up to little hands tugging at the blankets.

"Mummy, wake up!" they shout.

I blink, and I sit up slowly.

My babies. They're small again!

I gasp. I cry.

They climb into bed giggling, wiggling.

I used to rush through mornings.. but not today.

I pull them close.
I hug them tight.
I kiss their messy hair.
I hold their little hands.

This time, I soak in every second.

I catch my reflection in the bathroom mirror.

No deep lines.
No grey hair.
My younger face...
I used to think I looked old at 41.

What a silly thought.

I stare for a moment and think, "You are so beautiful."

I find my husband in the kitchen, making coffee.
He looks strong, young.

I wrap my arms around him so tightly.

He looks surprised.

Maybe we didn't hug enough back then, I think.

We talk about the day nothing big.

But today, it all feels big.

I memorise the sound of his voice.

We pile into the car, kids arguing over seatbelts.
Someone drops a snack.
Crumbs everywhere.

I used to get so frustrated.

I soak in the noise, the chaos I know my car will be quiet and spotless for many years to come.

But I'll miss the mess.

Dinner is loud and unorganised.
No one wants to sit still.
There's shouting, giggling, a little arguing and so much life.

I don't clean up right away.

I just sit and watch.

Trying to burn it all into my memory.

Before bed, I pick up the phone.

I call my mum. And I hear her voice.

Mum..MUM.

I haven't heard this voice in so many years..
I close my eyes and let her words wash over me.
I tell her I love her again and again.
I never want to hang up.

This time, I don't leave anything unsaid.

At bedtime, I don't skip pages in the story.
Not tonight.
I read every single word.
Then I ask, "Can we read one more book?"
They say yes.
I don't want this day to end.

I got one more day.

And this time, I knew.
This was joy.
This was love.
Those little hands.
The loud, messy dinners.
Our strong, young bodies with no aches or pains.
Our parents who are still alive..

It all mattered so much more than we ever realised.

Who writes that garbage? Fuck that shit. At least you reached your 80s you silly woman!
Not addressed to you, OP, but the author of that turd.
I think your hormones are tripping you up big time.

It actually bugs me how easily some older people forget how worrying, tiring and mentally stressful, working and bringing up kids is. It's fine to do on odd days, but year after year? Would they really want to repeat it all?

I appreciate my family, I'm proud of them and I enjoy my kids. But I'm not going to pretend it's all been sunbeams and laughter.

You can love your children and call out terrible writing simultaneously.

Yes! Someone needs to write it in reverse 😅

For me it was just a reminder that one day, should I live to older age, everything will be completely different. Right now my children are small-ish and cute and my mum and dad live round the corner, I can pick up the phone at any point and talk to them. I think it’s easy to forget how it’s not permanent.

My 32 year old self got to spend a day as an 80 year old and decided that a few aches and pains and more wrinkles were amply compensated for by leisure to lead my life exactly as I saw fit, drink a freshly made cup of coffee when it was still hot, decide to go for a walk in the fields by moonlight at 3 am if I wanted, to start drinking with friends at brunch and continue into the evening without having to worry about having a hangover at work the next day, to pick up an absorbing novel at 9 am and just read it straight through to the final page without being interrupted etc etc. 32-year-old me was deeply envious.

I believe that a Scandinavian study looked into whether parents of children, or childless couples were happier.

The study concluded that, as a whole, childless couples were happier. For parents of children, most of their happiness was derived from their child/ren - that they lived for them or vicariously through them; other things that provided them happiness were forgone or delayed in favour of gaining their children's happiness... Then, when the couples reached old age, those that had grandchildren were, by far, the happiest.

So it sounds like parenting is the long game, the real rewards come when your children grow up and you (hopefully) get to be grandparents. That is all a risky investment for a very delayed reward!

I have to admit that old age sucks, so I better get some grand babies.

Ahh I read it as glorifying the “young children” days and I feel it’s always that chapter that people are urged to enjoy. Rather than other chapters which might be just as lovely.

My 35 year old self gets to live this life (pain and wrinkle-free) because I made the decision not to have children... just saying.

Actually yes I agree with this. Many older people have rose tinted spectacles about their own children's childhood and c their own parenting so that rather than thinking ' oh how I wish to have that time again' they judge young parents and young people because they remember them/ society/ their own children/ parenting to be the best way.

I think it could be easily written from a male POV and still say exactly the same things.

And PP who hates the ‘Holland instead of Italy’ poem, same!!

Oh, I agree with you. This doesn't reflect my own life. At 32 I was living in the west of Ireland and having a total ball. I was contentedly childfree at 35, too, living in London and having a great time, and though I did in fact have a child when I was 40, it didn't in fact change my life much, I continued to be career-focused and I was never some kind of mummy martyr. I enjoyed parenting him (well, I'm still parenting him in his teens), but I certainly don't ache with nostalgia for when he was small. He's great now, bloody-minded and independent, figuring out the world.

I honestly don't read it that way at all. I read it as a reminder to be grateful for the things we might take for granted, e.g. the narrator's parents are still alive, her husband is still alive/healthy (unclear how he is in present day), she has the joy and love of young children (even if the day to day reality is stressful), she is young and beautiful (how often do you look back at a photo when you were 18 and thought you were fat or ugly and realise you were very pretty?). But that's writing/language, it evokes different emotions in us all.

I really think I’ll look back and think these days were the best of my life, having a young to look after. But I don’t treasure every moment, some of it is hard and some of it I won’t miss.

My Mum obviously doesn’t miss it. She’ll do absolutely anything to avoid playing with the kids.

Cam be all summed by Carpe Diem! Wise two words but nothing new!

Yup - like my Mum who struggled so much with my brother and yet is still repeating the same mistakes, and attempting to teach me her ways, with my own son who has similar attitude. So frustrating. She’s happy to preach and quietly forgets I witnessed her struggle!

Absolutely naff

I can’t stand it. I am 55 and my kids are at University. I have no regrets about cleaning up ‘right away’. I would not do anything differently.

Time with my kids now is still special. It is different to when they were little, but important just the same. I don’t waste my time in sentimental regret and nostalgia. Today counts.

Yeah it’s lovely and sentimental. but let’s not pretend life is all roses when you are trying to bring up kids, keep a full time professional job, keep house tidy, bills paid, pets looked after and trying to stay healthy.

to be honest bog off with this shit

Who are these ‘older people’ you’re generalising about? Those who’ve brought up kids know the relentlessness and the hard work and would never go back to it. That poem is fanciful bollocks and most posters on this thread have said the same!

Why are we not allowed to enjoy life when our kids have left home? Wth my kids, we are still very close, and communicate nearly every day via WhatsApp. We go on holiday together and have fun as adults. They discuss the importance stuff in life and seek out my advice. It can be incredibly rewarding. In many ways more so than the days of changing nappies or doing the school run, exhausted and drained.

I think it’s actually quite weird to yearn for the days when the kids were younger and not value the time you have now with them. It is just as special but different. The relationship will continue to change and evolve, but it can still be great.

Your cleaning up right away made me remember a woman I used to know when my eldest was a toddler.

She always said she loved every second with her children, so she did nothing but play. Which is great (her child was one of those ones who was just so easy going and lovely, my ds was Damien in comparison, so no, I did not love every second), but no one loves everything about something.

One day, she invited a few of us from playgroup to her house and christ, it was in the days of Kim and Aggy, and it was like a house off one of their programmes. Everybody suddenly became extremely hydrated and refused a drink as the kitchen was disgusting.

Anyway, she stated going on and on about how she spend every second with her child, how we were all wasting our time tidying up. One very blunt women stepped on a stray cat shit and said, “for the love of fuck woman, shut up and clean your hovel, your kid won’t thank you for this no matter how many puzzles you do with her.”

I know that’s an extreme example, but she’s who I think of when I hear people say the cleaning can wait. She took that and ran with it.

Because all that equally nauseating “18 summers” bullshit makes women (again, not men), think that once your children turn 18, they disappear in a puff of smoke. It’s just not true.

You are... Again I think you're totally missing the point. It's just about counting your blessings and could apply to any stage of life. The writing is presumably aimed at a 32 year old young mother, but could just as easily be aimed at a 55 year old mother of adults in their 20s. Imagine you're having a bad day, your boiler has broken, you've had a fight with your daughter, your washing has been caught in the rain, and you're totally fed up. It's more about realising that one day (all being well) you'll be older or sicker and will look back on these days as the 'good old days'.

It's really not that deep guys.

These things are always written about tired mums with younger kids. Mums who are not meant to care about housework and cleaning, but are instead meant to gaze at their little kids, savouring every moment. It makes me cringe and it is too much pressure.