Last night, I had a dream.

I dreamt I had a three year old again. It wasn’t one of my real-life children, but an alternate-reality, Dream Child. I knew in the dream that he was three, and I was feeling sad because his 3T Spiderman pajamas were getting too small. We were getting ready for bed, and he was carrying a naked baby doll in one hand, and a truck in the other.

I woke up, and it took me a hot second to realize that I didn’t in fact have a three year old, but a 24 year old who is a bonafide grown-up, a 20 year old who recently became a husband, a 17 year old who’s on the cusp of adulthood, and the baby, a 13 year old who is more self-possessed than I was at 25.

And my heart ached.

It’s exhausting having littles. I remember the sleepless nights, the teething, the being used as a human pacifier, the diapers, the sippy cups, the big emotions, the hunt for the missing shoes, the taking 16 hours to get out the door. Some days felt like they would go on forever.

But all the cliches, about it going by in the blink of an eye? I’m here to tell you that they’re true. One day you’ll be knee deep in Dora and Disney, and the next you’ll wake up from a dream of a three year old, and be hit with a painful nostalgia so acute it will take your breath away.

I have no more young ones. My kids are nearly grown (and to be clear, I’m thoroughly enjoying this time with them!), and the baby and toddler years are firmly behind me. But if you’re reading this and your kids are still little, I beg of you:

Hold them a little longer.

Read them another book.

Let them stay 5 more minutes in the bath.

Say yes.

Don’t sweat the small stuff.

It goes by so fast. So fast. So fast. There are tiring and frustrating moments to be sure, but the good moments? The precious moments? The sticky fingers in your hand, the tiny voice, the nursery rhymes and the bedtime stories? Cherish them.

There will come a time… in five years, or ten, or twenty… that you’ll look back and desperately miss them.