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Why I Decided to Pick Up My 23 Year Old Daughter and What It Taught Me About Motherhood
Published 1/25/26
Remembrance
I Picked Up My 23 yr old Daughter.
I didn’t know the last time I picked my daughter up was going to be the last time.
I just did it. Like I had done a thousand times before. She was probably fussing. Or I needed to get into the store quickly so I scooped down and picked her up, and then… I didn’t do it again.
And the fact that I couldn’t remember it, kinda broke my heart. And I wanted to change that.
So when she was over at the house the other day, I did it. I picked her up.
I needed a little assistance from her. Told her to kinda jump a little and after some laughing and readjusting, I had her! There, on my hip. Like the good ole days. And to be honest, it kinda felt like muscle memory. And I almost teared up!
Your Body Remembers What Your Brain Moves On From
When your kids are little, you pick them up constantly. Onto beds. Into strollers. Out of grocery store carts.
Speaking of, we all remember those grocery store trips, right? One toddler trying to escape, another screaming because you opened the wrong granola bar, and a baby bjorned to your chest like a very loud and very hot accessory.
That’s usually when a well-meaning older woman would lean in and say,
“Someday you’ll miss this.”
And you’d smile politely while thinking, Respectfully… no.
Because at that moment, you weren’t nostalgic. You were tired. You were sweaty. You were just trying to get milk and leave without anyone removing their shoes and shirt in public.
Turns Out… They Weren’t Completely Wrong (Annoyingly)
I mean, don’t get it twisted. I don’t miss the tantrums. I don’t really miss the exhaustion. The chaos. BUT. I do miss something else.
I miss how naturally my body knew how to hold them.
How automatic that instinct was. To soothe. To calm. To fix.
I miss how close they always were.
Because one day, I stopped picking them up without even noticing it happened.
I Didn’t Know How Fast This Would Go
I wasn’t a particularly sentimental mom when my kids were little. I loved them deeply, but regularly thought I loved them most when they were safe and asleep in their beds. I was busy, tired, and mostly focused on getting everyone through the day.
And I assumed I’d remember the important parts.
Turns out, memory is selective at best.
What sticks aren’t necessarily the schedules or routines. It’s the weight of them in your arms. It's the way a sleeping toddler's body temperature rises just a smidge when they fall asleep on you. The moments that felt small at the time but somehow ended up being everything.
Motherhood Is a Long Game (No One Explains That Part)
There’s no real ending to my motherhood. It has just quietly changed shape.
I stopped carrying their backpacks and started carrying conversations.
I stopped fixing scraped knees and started fixing chipped manicures
I began picking up team carpool and listening about cute boy crushes.
I wasn’t needed for a boost to the drinking fountain. I was needed to review a text before sending it to make sure the tone was correct.
My motherhood didn’t suddenly disappear just because my kids were now all taller than me. I was just needed in different ways.
This Is Why Photos Matter (Even If You Don’t Think They Do)
I know not everyone loves taking pictures. Sometimes it feels like one more thing in an already hectic life.
But here’s the thing: motherhood moves fast. And your brain will not hold onto as much as you think it will.
Photos don’t freeze time BUT they give you a way back. A way to remember what you didn’t even realize you forgot!
To remember how it felt.
To remember to who you were.
To remember who they were.
To remember that the ordinary days were actually the best days.
So snap a pick of your morning routine. Let your toddler take your phone and see what they capture. Set up a time lapse of an afternoon.
And instead of storing them in the cloud, you can turn them into a book monthly, so you (and them) have something tangible to look back on. Your future self will thank you.
So Apparently, You Never Stop Picking Them Up
I put my daughter back down. Maybe more like she fell back down. And we laughed. (I’ll prob need some ibuprofen and heat on my back tonight.)
She grabbed what she had come over for and left for her day.
But I stood in the kitchen for a minute. Letting that moment really sink in. To remember how ordinary it felt. Like of course this is still a thing I do. Wanting to remember that motherhood doesn’t end when they grow up. It just shifts. Less physical, more emotional.
And every once in a while, without warning, you’ll pick them up again and realize that those old ladies in the grocery store weren’t totally wrong.