Oh, How I've Envied You, Moms of 'Older Kids.'

I took my 2 year old to the beach for the first time in her short life this past weekend. Sure, she's been in the water, and played in a man made tiny beach at the house we spent the last week in. But yesterday, we decided it was time for her to the see the "real" beach. The big beach, full of white sand that our region is known for, and the salty gulf water with the tumbling waves.

First of all, she loved it. She got the full experience of white hot sand, discovering broken shells, being knocked down by a few rogue waves, and having your last piece of snack fall into the sand right before you were going to take a bite. She kicked and screamed when we had to head back, even though we had spent a good two hours in the blazing heat making mermaid tails on her cousins and looking for starfish.

Her dad and I were D-O-N-E.

As I sat there on my towel in my maternity swimsuit, getting a terrible shoulder sunburn that I wouldn't discover until much later, I watched how my husband treaded carefully in front of her at all times, watching her every move, should he have to rescue her at some point.

My eyes wandered a little further down the beach, to a couple sitting under some beach umbrellas, sipping their drinks, and periodically shouting "Watch your SISTER!" to the three playing children by the water.

Ah, the coveted life phase of having "older kids." The phase where your children are old enough to not need your constant supervision, but young enough to still entertain you with their enthusiasm and wonderment.

I'm sure you paid your dues. I'm sure you went to the beach once or twice when they were really little, dragging behind you an entire arsenal of sunscreens, sunglasses, hats, buckets, towels, snacks, sippy cups and cover ups. I'm sure you looked down the beach at the college kids and single folks, blissfully listening to their music players (whatever the era was into at that point) and silently cursing how pale you are now, because you would rather have everyone think you are a ghost than parent with a sunburn.

And yet, when I see you there - I can't help but feel a twinge of jealousy. As if you somehow magically got there. As if you somehow skipped all of these "baby years," and everything has always been this relaxed for you. "WHAT'S YOUR SECRET, DAMMIT?!" I think in my head. "How are you enjoying yourself completely AND getting to experience parenthood?" Aren't the two mutually exclusive?!"

Now before you tell me to count my blessings, I know, I know. I am incredibly grateful for these memories, and I am incredibly grateful for my toddler, tantrums and all. I love her in every phase, and I am truly happy. But I'm not going to sit here and type this out like it's an instagram memory, all hazy filters and happy hashtags. That beach trip was a once in a year experience, and not because I'm too far away for it not to be. But because it was equally joyful and frustrating, happy and anger inducing, relaxing and stressful all at once.

But I know it's only a matter of time. One day not far from now, I'll (hopefully) be sitting on a beach, under an umbrella and sipping something (preferably alcoholic) and watching with complete bliss (and probably still a few nerves) as my children play independently on the sand and water.

And I'll probably look at the younger mom, the exhausted one wrestling her toddler to the ground as they struggle to put on a third layer of sunscreen, and then waddle closely behind them like a mother hen herding her chicks near the water, and remember how it felt to have young kids, and how I miss when they needed me so much.

Everything is a gift, even the harder times.

Happy Monday Everyone! Especially you, moms of little ones. Our day in the shade is coming!