I stumbled upon a line in a book that has become my new favorite quote: "She was 10 years old, she knew everything." This phrase had me laughing and crying, remembering when I was 10 and also knew everything. I have always felt like I always known everything, at every stage of my life. And every person older than me would give me the "just wait" response. In middle school, teachers say, "Just wait until high school." In high school, it's, "Just wait until college." Professors chime in with, "Just wait until you get to your real job," and the cycle never seems to end. During my early days in the corporate world, I'd look at interns and think the same, just as I once did when I was the intern looking at college freshmen with a mix of sympathy and superiority. 
When I entered motherhood, seemingly well-meaning individuals (or maybe they were just bitter) would share the "just waits" of the parenting world: "Oh, they're sleeping now, but just wait until the sleep regression hits," "just wait until they're crawling...walking...running...driving..." It seemed like a gentle admonition, a reminder that what I thought I had figured out was merely the tip of the iceberg, but wasn't allowing me to live in the moment. Now, as a well seasoned mom (or so I think), there's an enchanting quality to witnessing moms in their newfound motherhood bubble without feeling the need to pop their bubble with the "just waits".
I have a friend who recently became a mom and joined me for a playdate while my firecracker of a 2-year-old ran wild like the spirited toddler she is. Watching her navigate the newborn mom bubble was like revisiting my own early days of parenting, making me feel a little nostalgic. She was nervous about placing her 3-month-old on a swing, hesitant to let him taste a cupcake for the first time, scrutinizing the sunscreen ingredients I offered when she realized she left hers at home. She carried an entire diaper bag to the park down the block while I realized my toddler had managed to make her way to the park wearing only one shoe. She wiped down the slide with a Clorox wipes while my toddler was licking rocks. Silently, I watched her, remembering my own meticulous early parenting habits and the days of having hand sanitizer perpetually within arm's reach. Somewhere in the two years of parenting, I learned, adjusted, and decided that licking rocks at the playground wasn't the end of the world. Every mom has her journey, and they all find their way.
As I hit my late 20s, my perspective shifted. Rather than seeing people in stages I'd passed through, I started viewing them as earlier versions of myself. They were embarking on a journey of growth and discovery, unaware that some of their best days lay ahead. The phrase "just wait" transformed into a celebration of their present moment, understanding that everyone will reach their milestones in their own time. My heart explodes when I see the high schoolers at the gym getting pumped for football practice or dressing up for prom thinking it's the highlight of their life and knowing that this is only going to be a small glimmer into the amazing lives they have ahead of themselves. I love nothing more than seeing new moms at the store with overfilled diaper bags knowing that one day they'll be dusting off sippy cups with one hand, toddler on a hip, without breaking eye contact in a conversation. Now, instead of imparting or thinking "just wait," I let them revel in their little bubble, knowing each person will navigate their unique journey and urging them to savor every moment along the way.