I Cried at Wicked and It Wasn't About the Witches

I have this problem in motherhood, and it's called grieving-the-moment-while-it's-still-happening.

I'm not sure if other moms can relate, but Sunday I took my daughter to see Wicked on Broadway, and I felt myself tearing up mid-show — not just because of Glinda and Elphaba's unlikely friendship, or the goat professor who could no longer speak (baa), but because I knew I would only get to live in this memory this one time.

You're probably thinking, "obviously, Kristyn, that's how life works," and I know that. But motherhood is bittersweet in so many ways: you want to watch them grow up and freeze time, sometimes in the same minute, let alone the same hour or the same day.

On one hand, it's so much more fun now that she's almost eight and can run through Times Square with me to catch the next train home. But she's also a little more independent, and a little more sure of herself every single time we're out together.

Having multiple kids also makes me feel like there isn't enough time in the world to give each of them as much individual attention as they probably deserve, so there's that guilt, too. I haven't figured out how to fix it, I just feel it.

There's actually a word for this: anticipatory nostalgia, or missing a moment before it's even over. A psychologist who studied it found it's more common in women than men. Shocking, I know.

I guess as moms we can't win, but it's also what makes days like Sunday worth every penny (and then some).