The Sweet Spot

When Charlotte was just barely two & Brooks was a newborn, life was so hellaciously difficult that Larsen and I did a bit where I’d yell to him: “Is this as hard as it’s ever going to get?” And he’d yell back, reassuringly, “This is as hard as it’s going to get!” We did this daily, and it galvanized us as a team — us vs. them, baby! — and made us laugh amid the crying & the chaos & the countless diapers.

We’ve been through many difficult seasons of parenthood — the bone-weary, love-drunk newborn days; the maddening, sunbutter-sticky years of toddlerhood; the pandemic; a cross-country move — that when it starts to feel easy, we take note. We pop our heads out of the bunker we’ve been holed up in for SO LONG, look around & realize we are actually *reading* the books we bring to the beach and every single one of our kids can pull their own suitcase through an airport.

This, my friends, is the Sweet Spot, the momentary lull between the intensity of the baby/toddler years and the (buckle up) teenage years. Everyone can dress themselves & make their beds & get their own snacks & express their needs articulately. It is lovely, the moment we have been waiting for, if I’m being honest. It is also ephemeral, the real problems of adolescence looming that will make me long for a time when putting shoes on the wrong feet was my kid’s biggest issue.

But for now, in this moment, it feels important to be grateful. Is this as good as it’s ever going to get?