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.

You can remember all of those things with real joy, without pining for the past. My husband and I were on a campsite this summer where little children were fiercely riding tiny bikes around everywhere, which is exactly what our (now adult) children did. And it was lovely to watch and remember our family holidays together. It's OK to not cherish every moment as you live it, and probably that's impossible anyway. I certainly didn't. But the memories of that time are there to enrich the experiences I have now. Seeing the children on their bikes and remembering my two was a lovely moment in a lovely holiday.

I'm one of those wistfully-looking middle-aged women! I felt wistful whenever I saw a mum with small DC in her shopping trolley with her for several years after my youngest started school and I found myself shopping alone. On the whole, I loved those days with my toddlers.

I liked this poem. I'm perfectly happy with my life as it is now, with teens about to fly the nest. But I often wish I could go back ten years, just for a day.

My dc are teens - I often think about how we never really visit places where there are young children anymore (why would we?). It actually makes me quite happy. But then I work with children so I'm often quite relieved to get back to my rather adult space at home - quiet and peaceful. Maybe something wrong with me that I don't long to go back to young children stage. I was always a bit of a loner so probably never really suited me to have little ones hanging off me 24/7.

I'd love it all back. I have many boxes of photos that I often look through - I find myself catching my breath at the sight of those sweet, sticky little faces smiling at me behind the camera...

That was cringe.

I'm nearly 74, DH nearly 79. I've had cancer and have other permanent ailments. DC is almost immobile now. Until two years ago my life in retirement was wonderful - two fantastic DDs, two fantastic GKs, enough retirement money to enjoy stuff (even two World Cruises), and I only looked forward. Now it is hard going, physically and mentally. It's nicer to look back - but you remember mostly the good bits, and not the worries about money or kids arguing, sleepless nights, watching DD die of cancer, and DM with dementia, meeting work deadlines with 14-hour working days - and the rest.

By all means have memories, but live life in the present cos each phase has plusses and minusses and the most we can do is hope that our later years have more of the first and fewer of the second.

I am grateful that I still feel that life is worth living -so I count myself lucky. For now.

I saw it and cried too

@Anon501178
You are getting some typically MN toxic responses but I am one of the middle aged women looking at you, reminiscing a bit, wishing my large children were little ones who were happiest with puddlejumping and hearing Three Little Kittens over and over.

I think you can tell the difference between those of us who are fondly smiling at your children and those glaring over with a face like a well slapped arse.😁

Nothing ‘toxic’ about responses that don’t agree with yours and find them sickly.

It's not about the literary merits of the poem, it's the sneering like "100% not thinking how lucky you are, that I can promise you 😂😂😂"

Like, why would they feel the need to make a young mother feeling self conscious and doubting people's kindness? Most people ARE kind.

Because of her slightly ageist and condescending assumption that all us dotty old ‘middle aged women’ are sitting there pining for some imaginary domestic child-filled idyll.

Actually most switched on middle aged women I know are getting on with their own amazingly independent lives and not living in the past.

It doesn’t stop us looking ‘wistfully’ at her and her kids but rather than jealousy we are probably thinking ‘thank fuck we’ve got past that stage and I can sit here with my cappuccino in peace’.

Erm, story of Angelo please!

Are they looking 'wistfully', or are they really thinking 'thank god I'm out of that stage!'

What a weird response. I’m likewise not arguing about the literary merits of the poem (it has none), or about whether people are ‘kind’ (yes, I think mostly they are), but I am absolutely disabusing posters of the delusion that when middle-aged women look at them with their babies or small children, it’s out of envy and nostalgia for a high point in their own lives. Don’t get me wrong, I enjoyed parenting my baby and young son, but I’m enjoying now, when he’s a stroppy teen starting to strike out for himself. If I look at a mother with young children, it certainly isn’t with the kind of sickly nostalgia represented in that poem.

I'm sure it's a mixture of both, depending on the person and also whether my kids are behaving or not 😅

Me too. I hate social media and the way it throws emotionally manipulative shit like this up in your face when you're just going about your business. I need to get off it altogether.

Nice but not really authentic. My mum died when I was 22 and if inwokenip back in time when she was alive I’d be phoning her straight after the morning bed time cuddles to arrange a day with her, and skipping school if applicable

Now that would be telling, but enough to say that Naples July 1982 has never been beaten.