A Letter to the Mom in the Thick of It | From a 40-Year-Old Who Blinked

From a 40-year-old who blinked — and wants to tell you something important while you still have time to hear it.

I want to start by saying something I don’t think gets said enough: the toddler years are one of the hardest seasons of your life. And if you are in them right now, and some days feel like survival — you are not doing it wrong. You are just doing it. And that counts for everything.

I’m Ashley — pediatric occupational therapist, toddler mom turned soccer mom, and a 40-year-old woman who recently sat down with a podcast microphone and cried her way through the episode I’m summarizing in this post. Because I needed to say these things. And I think you need to hear them.

So let’s talk about what it actually feels like to be in the thick of it, what the science says about why the ordinary moments matter more than you think, and the letter I wish someone had handed me when my babies were small.

What “the Thick of It” Actually Feels Like

When older moms say “enjoy every moment,” it can land like a gut punch. Because you do love your kids — ferociously, completely — and you’re also exhausted in a way that defies description. Both things are true at the same time.

Here’s what I remember, and what I want you to know I see:

The particular loneliness of being surrounded by small people all day. Your toddler cannot ask how your day was. They cannot notice you’re struggling. They need — beautifully, appropriately — and you give, and at the end of the day there is sometimes nothing left of you that belongs to just you.

The identity piece. You had a whole self before this. Interests, ambitions, a sense of humor. Some days that self feels very far away. Not gone — but like a version of you that exists in another time zone.

The guilt that never sleeps. Too much screen time? Not enough activities? Did you handle the meltdown wrong? The toddler mom guilt is relentless and almost always completely disproportionate to any actual failing.

The physical weight of it. The touched-out feeling at the end of the day. The way your body stopped feeling like your own. The way sleep deprivation rewires your brain so fundamentally you can’t remember what it felt like to wake up rested.

Both things were true at the same time. The exhaustion and the love. The depletion and the wonder. The desperation for a break and the fierce, consuming devotion. That’s the thick of it. And it’s the most complicated emotional experience I’ve ever had.

You’re not doing it wrong. You’re just doing it.

What a Child Development Specialist Needs You to Know About Ordinary Moments

Here’s where my clinical brain has to speak up — because this might be the most important thing in this entire post.

The moments that feel the most ordinary are the ones that matter the most developmentally. Not the Pinterest craft. Not the educational toy. Not the perfectly planned playdate.

When you narrate what you’re doing while your toddler sits on the kitchen floor banging on a pot? That’s language development and nervous system co-regulation happening in real time.

When you get on the floor and say “I see you, that’s really hard” instead of rushing to fix it? You are building the neural pathways they will use to manage their own emotions for the rest of their lives.

When you read the same book for the forty-seventh time? That is building secure attachment. That is literally wiring their brain for safety and trust.

You are doing the most important neurological work of their entire lives. In your yoga pants. With cold coffee. On four hours of sleep.

You will not remember most of it in detail. But they carry it — in their nervous systems, in their attachment patterns, in the way they move through the world. Every ordinary Tuesday you showed up for. Even the ones where you felt like you were barely showing up.

What I Miss That Nobody Warned Me About

I’m on the other side now. My kids are school-age. And there are things I miss that I genuinely did not know to savor, because nobody told me they would disappear.

The weight of a sleeping toddler. The way they go completely boneless when they fall asleep on you. I used to carefully extract myself because I had things to do. I would give almost anything to be pinned under a sleeping toddler again.

The mispronunciations. Every toddler has their own language. One day, without any announcement, without any ceremony, they just started saying the word correctly. And the old version was gone. And I didn’t even notice it leaving.

Being their whole world. There is a specific, temporary, unrepeatable season where you are the center of their universe. That season ends — and it’s supposed to. But nobody really prepares you for that particular bittersweet.

The way they said “mama.” Even when I was touched out and exhausted and had heard it eight thousand times that day — there was something in that word that was just for me. That nobody else got to be.

The Letter I Needed Someone to Write Me

Dear mama,

I know you’re tired. I know the tired feels permanent — like you’ve forgotten what it felt like to not be tired. I promise you that you will sleep again. I know that doesn’t help right now, but I need you to know it.

I know some days feel like survival. Those days are real and they’re hard and they count as showing up. Getting to bedtime counts.

I know you love them in a way that scares you sometimes — the ferocity of it, the vulnerability of it. That love is appropriate. That love is right. That love is one of the realest things you will ever feel.

Put your phone down sometimes. Not because Instagram is evil — it’s not — but because the moment you’re half-present for is one you can’t get back. And the moments are going. They are going right now.

Forgive yourself faster. You are going to lose your patience. You are going to have days where you were not the mom you wanted to be. Repair it, learn from it, and let it go. They need a mom who models self-forgiveness as much as they need anything else.

And on the days when it’s really hard — on those days especially — you are not failing. You are in the thick of it. And the thick of it is supposed to be thick. That’s not a sign something is wrong. That’s just what this season feels like from the inside.

From where I’m standing at 40, looking back? It looks like love. Every single messy, imperfect, exhausting, magical day of it.

I see you, mama. Don’t blink.

What to Do With This

If something in this post landed for you, here’s what I want you to do today — just one thing:

Put your phone down for 20 minutes and get on the floor with your toddler. No agenda. No activity. No trying to be a good mom. Just be there. Let them lead. Let it be boring or chaotic or both.

That 20 minutes is more valuable than you can currently see. And one day — I promise you this — you will remember the feeling of it, even if you forget the details.

This post is a companion to a full podcast episode where I recorded the letter live, talked through the OT science behind ordinary moments, and cried approximately twice. Come listen — link in bio.

About Ashley

Licensed Child Development therapist, former childcare center owner, and mom navigating the bittersweet of watching her babies grow up. Ashley combines clinical expertise with the real, messy truth of motherhood — so toddler moms feel less alone and more equipped.