Why I’m Not Nostalgic About the Baby Years
“Oh, they grow up so fast!” If you’re a parent, heard that line from every grandma who locks eyes with your kid like they’re a time capsule. It’s become a cultural script. You’re supposed to smile and sigh wistfully, as if you wish you could bottle up the sleepless nights, leaky boobs, and colicky screams.
But I’m not nostalgic for the baby years. At all. Zero desire to hit rewind. And if you feel the same, you’re not broken, cold, or missing the “mom gene.” You’re just living in reality instead of a Hallmark commercial.
In this article:
Understanding Parent Nostalgia and Why It Hits Some Hard
Why You Might Not Feel Nostalgic
Celebrating Growth by Staying Present
Why You Should Stop Worrying About Missing Babyhood
Understanding Parent Nostalgia and Why It Hits Some Hard
There’s nothing wrong with nostalgia. It’s human. It’s also sneaky. One minute you’re enjoying your kid drawing a dinosaur that looks like a mutant chicken, the next you’re spiraling about how they’ll never be that small again.
Part of that is biology (see The Science Behind Mom Brain). Our brains are wired to hold onto emotional highs like first steps and first giggles. But a lot of it comes from the parenting pressure cooker we live in.
Why nostalgia grabs some parents by the throat:
Cultural pressure. Society glamorizes the baby years and feeds us the guilt-inducing line that you must “savor every second.” Translation: if you didn’t enjoy 3 a.m. screaming fits, you failed.
Comparison. Other parents get misty-eyed about newborn smell, and suddenly you wonder if your lack of tears means you’re dead inside.
Regret. We all have moments we wish we slowed down for. Nostalgia can be regret in a prettier outfit.
Fear of the unknown. It’s easier to idolize the past than admit the future is wide open and terrifying.
Loss of control. Babies depend on you for everything. As they grow, they need you differently, and that shift can sting.
Valid? Absolutely. But living in nostalgia like it’s your permanent address? That’s just self-sabotage. You miss what’s in front of you while pining for a version of your child that doesn’t exist anymore.
Some of those warm fuzzies we chase aren’t from our own memories at all. They’re scripted by movies and media that sold us a picture-perfect version of parenthood. When you realize your happiness’s been hijacked, you can finally start taking it back.
Why You Might Not Feel Nostalgic
On the flip side, some of us don’t get hit with baby-year longing at all. And that’s our truth. The baby years can be brutal. There’s nothing magical about bleeding through your pajamas, running on 90 minutes of sleep, or trying to remember your own name while someone uses your body like a milk bar.
Reasons you might not look back fondly:
Postpartum depression or anxiety. The early months weren’t “precious”—they were survival.
Physical recovery. Healing from birth or complications doesn’t exactly pair well with nostalgia.
Sleep deprivation. You can’t savor a blur.
Identity crisis. If babyhood coincided with you losing career momentum or sense of self, of course it feels like a dark hole, not a golden era.
Overwhelm. Juggling multiple kids, financial stress, or work demands doesn’t leave much bandwidth for rose-colored glasses.
Not feeling nostalgic doesn’t mean you love your child any less. It just means your highlight reel looks different. And that’s valid too.
For me, every new stage feels like an upgrade. I don’t want my son to stay little forever, clinging to my leg like a human barnacle. I want to watch him unfold into himself, day by day.
His first words
His belly laughs
His determination
Those moments make me more excited about tomorrow than wistful about yesterday. Growth is the point. Childhood isn’t supposed to be Groundhog Day.
Celebrating Growth by Staying Present
Nostalgia has a way of painting the past in soft golden light while turning the present into a messy blur. But the baby years weren’t the “best years.” They were just the first years. Every stage has its chaos and its charm, and if you’re too busy mourning what’s gone, you’ll miss what’s right in front of you.
Think about it: the first time your kid laughs at their own joke, ties their shoes, or writes their wobbly name—those aren’t lesser moments compared to first steps or baby giggles. They’re proof your child is becoming their own person.
So how do you stay grounded in the “right now” without drowning in nostalgia or fast-forwarding to the future? You start treating presence like a skill, not a personality trait.
Here’s how to practice it:
Name it to tame it. When nostalgia sneaks in, say it out loud: “I miss that stage.” Acknowledge it, then move on.
Build rituals, not shrines. Photos and memory boxes are tools for honoring growth; not altars to worship what’s gone. One-moment journals can help you remember funny, ridiculous, or sweet things your kid did each day.
Micro-moments matter. Five minutes of undivided attention (reading the same book for the tenth time, listening to the world’s longest knock-knock joke) is more powerful than five hours of distracted parenting.
Choose curiosity over comparison. Instead of obsessing over milestones, ask what lights your kid up today. What’s their new favorite word? What weird snack combo are they into? That’s where the magic is.
Shift the story. When your brain whispers “I’ll never get that back,” respond with “I can’t wait to see what’s next.” Language matters, even the language you use on yourself.
Give yourself permission. You’re allowed to enjoy some stages more than others. You’re not a bad parent if toddlerhood thrills you more than newborn chaos.
Presence doesn’t mean every day is bliss. Some days will still be teeth-gritting marathons where bedtime feels like parole. But staying present lets you collect the small joys without waiting until they’re long gone to notice them.
Why You Should Stop Worrying About Missing Babyhood
You can miss the snuggles and be thrilled your kid can now pour their own juice. So, next time someone hits you with “They grow so fast,” try this instead:
“They do. And so does my pride in them.”
“They do. And so does our relationship.”
“They do. And I’m loving every stage.”
Your feelings (whether nostalgic, relieved, or somewhere in between) don’t make you a bad parent. They make you a real one.
