Like a lot of other moms, I’m not in many photos. That’s because I’m usually behind the camera, barking instructions at the children. (“Be still! Look happy! We’re making memories, people!”) In a digital library of more than 3,000 pictures, I’m sprinkled around like an occasional surprise.

There I am looking kind of lovely in a sundress, and the next time I turn up—hey, woah—I’m nine months pregnant, looking like I’ll eat whatever’s closest.

A few days ago, I was scrolling through photos with my son. It was my birthday, and he’d asked to see what I looked like in “the old days.” (Or, as you and I might refer to them, “the late '90s.”)

Back then, I was a new mom, home full time. My daughter was the star of nearly every photo—taking first steps, rejecting first foods, looking adorable in hats.

And then—surprise!—there I was in one frame, sitting cross-legged on the floor of our first house. My husband must have taken the picture when I wasn’t paying attention, because in it, I’m staring solemnly into space. Surrounded by toys, shirt rumpled, hair in scrunchie—I look tired.

I don’t remember the day. Nor do I remember what it feels like to sit on the floor without eventually begging someone else to help me uncross my legs. I do remember the tired feeling, though, and those rainbow-colored toys.

I remember that the girl in that photo functions in one of two gears: overjoyed or overwhelmed. Motherhood is slightly bewildering for her, and she wonders how she could do it better. I’m not really a hugger, but if I could, I would hug her. I would buy her a beer, and I’d give her this advice.

1) Enough with the scrunchies. When was the last time you saw the inside of a Fantastic Sam’s? I know your body is saying you can’t leave the baby, but your hair is saying you should—at least for the time it takes to get a trim.

2) No kidding. Everyone in the family will benefit if you take one quiet hour for yourself.

3) They’ll also benefit if you take the haircut out for a date with your husband. You don’t realize, so I’ll say it: You miss him. One not-so-rumply shirt and a pupu platter later, and you’ll remember how delightful adult conversation can be.

4) I know you’re composing a mental list of qualifications, but you will not be able to find a baby sitter with “a doctorate in early child development” or “superhuman strength.” Settle for someone with good references. Then, if she doesn’t hold the baby upside down, get out of there. Everything will be just fine when you come back.

5) What’s with all the tidying? When I think of the way you organize the kid’s toy dishes every night—spoons stacked neatly, plates separate from pans—I laugh my head off. Which of these do you think you’ll remember a decade from now: a perfect closet, or a few perfect minutes on the porch?

6) Of course the baby didn’t like the rice cereal. That stuff is disgusting. And I’ve got more good news—she’s going to hate all kinds of foods for years to come. You’ll see other kids at picnics and restaurants who are just shoveling it in—sushi and hummus and eggplant and quinoa—and your kid is going to turn up her nose at pie. Don’t panic! It all works out! She’s 12 now, and yesterday she ate an egg.

7) Seriously—an egg. And a bell pepper. And salmon. Don’t make the mistake of thinking that who she is on a given day is who she’ll be forever. (In the same vein, she won’t always be afraid of fireworks, sports mascots, or disco balls.)

8) Good job sitting down there on the floor. That’s where the fun happens when you’re a parent. But don’t feel guilty when you’ve had enough of the child’s-eye-view. Sometimes, it's great to be tall and solitary, on the couch with a book.

9) Muscle your way into a few more family photos. Head up, eyes toward the camera, and smile.

10) You’re doing fine, and you're only going to get better.

Heather Heath Chapman is a writer and a mother of two. You may reach her at heatherchapman1@me.com. Or, follow her on Twitter: twitter.com/HeatherChapman.