It Goes By So Fast

I remember when I was pregnant with my oldest son and so many people said, “It goes by so fast. Cherish each stage.” Logically, I understood the message. After all, the days seem to pass more quickly each year. But I don’t think I truly comprehended the depth of it goes by so fast.

Now I’m sitting here looking at my handsome little boy — who isn’t so little anymore. He’s 17 and in his final months of high school. I tried to hold onto that early advice throughout his life, making sure to cherish each stage. But nothing could have prepared me for the speed at which he would grow up.

I remember him at two years old building towers with blocks. Each time the tower toppled, he would simply move to where the blocks had fallen and start again — slowly working his way across the living room. From one end to the other, attempt after attempt, until finally, at the very edge of the room, he successfully built a tower six blocks high. The pride and excitement on his face that day are just as clear in my mind now.

I remember when his twin brothers came home from the hospital, not yet three years old, gently kissing their foreheads — so proud to be the big brother.

Around five, he struggled with trying new foods. We tried everything: food therapists, gentle encouragement, bribery — even the classic “the doctor said.” He loved his doctor. One morning he walked into the kitchen at 8:00 a.m. holding two cookies. I turned to him, smiling, and asked, “Who said you could have cookies this early?”

With complete seriousness he replied, “I called Dr. Paul. He said I could have a cookie… and another one.”

I stood there speechless, wondering if he had known all along that we weren’t actually calling the doctor — or if he was simply too clever for his own good.

A few years later, there was Fred the Elf — the one every household loves and hates at the same time. One night, after the boys were sound asleep, we “toilet-papered” the house from the upstairs bathroom, down the hall, and along the staircase — carefully stopping before their bedroom doors.

Imagine my surprise when I walked into their room the next morning and found it covered in toilet paper — the boys dancing wildly in the middle of it.

“Boys, what happened in here?” I asked.

“Fred toilet-papered our bedroom!” they shouted in unison.

Once again, I stood there questioning my parenting skills — while laughing internally, knowing this would become one of those stories we’d tell for years.

There are so many more memories. But what stands out most now isn’t just the milestones — it’s the relationship we have. He is fiercely independent, yet still seeks my advice. He asks for help. And every single night before bed, I get a huge hug. I consider myself incredibly fortunate on the teenage-hug front — all three of my boys still give me big hugs before bed.

In a few short months, we’ll have the privilege of watching my handsome little big man graduate and step into a new chapter of his life. As I sit here contemplating what advice I would give an expecting mother, I think I finally understand what I once only logically knew.

It goes by so fast.

So be present.

Don’t just get busy doing all the things mothers do — take the time to be their mother. Sit and watch them try to build the block tower. Let them play in the mud, even knowing the mess you’ll clean later. Go to the games and stay to watch. Attend the school plays. Help with homework. Make the sugar cookies at Christmas, even when the kitchen feels chaotic. And as they grow older, carve out time just for them — lunch dates, grocery store trips, errands that somehow turn into conversations you didn’t know you needed.

During the hard seasons, you may feel like you aren’t making a difference. You may wonder if you’re doing enough, saying the right things, guiding them well. But one day, they’ll show up unexpectedly and wrap you in a giant hug for no reason at all. And in that moment, all the stress, sleepless nights, worry, and doubt will quiet.

It goes by so fast.

But here’s what I didn’t understand back then — you grow, too.

You grow in patience. In strength. In resilience. In love that stretches further than you ever imagined possible.

So be present — not because you’re afraid of losing the time, but because you are strong enough to stand fully in it. You are not just surviving motherhood.

You are shaping hearts.
You are building confidence.
You are creating home.

And one day, when your child stands tall and ready to step into the world, you won’t just feel how quickly it passed.

You will see who you helped become.

And you will know — you were there.

With love,
Margaelin
Because even the strongest hearts need somewhere to rest
Seen. Held. Understood.