It’s December 2015, and my life has transformed completely. Our tiny premature baby, weighing just four-and-a-half pounds, is nestled in her temporary room—a breakfast nook in our new apartment, surrounded by unpacked boxes. Every sound she makes, every little frown, sends my anxiety levels soaring. I worry for her and for myself; I miss the friendships I had before becoming a parent and fear I’ll never bond with other parents. Everything shifts in an instant.
“Don’t fret,” say the Mothers—the collective group of mothers from Facebook, my friends’ mothers, and older women I know from work. “It gets easier, I promise.”
Fast forward to March 2019, and once again, life changes in a heartbeat. We experience more joy and less stress this time, but adjusting to life with two kids is still a challenge. We try to keep our older daughter’s life consistent, even as the household dynamic shifts. She wonders why our bedtime story sessions have changed and asks when her sister will be old enough to interact with her. I find myself endlessly washing bibs.
The Mothers assure me, “Two is much harder than one, but it will get easier.” Now, the Mothers include actual friends who are also parents—those who share a laugh with you at the preschool drop-off when you can’t remember how to click an infant car seat into the stroller.
In some ways, it does get easier. I can sleep through the night. We’ve settled into a house with real bedrooms and a supportive community. We have established routines and childcare, allowing me to take showers and enjoy date nights. My children express love for each other, and I can show them affection without the constant worry.
Yet, I too find myself offering reassurance to new moms. Just last weekend, I spoke with a weary young woman at a beer garden, cradling her sleeping newborn. She smiled at my daughters and asked how old they were, eager to share her 14-week-old’s sleep struggles. I found myself saying, “It gets easier, I promise.” In that moment, I wanted to lift her spirits, to assure her that she would find her way back to being a functioning human again.
However, in many ways, that promise feels empty. As my daughters—especially my soon-to-be kindergartener—grow, I realize that the challenges of potty training and sleep regressions were relatively simple. Our current hurdles are not just physical but also logistical, intellectual, and emotional.
Her interests are blossoming, which is a positive sign. Yet, I must be more attentive to support her exploration of these interests. Activities for her age often clash with my work schedule, forcing us to make difficult choices. Some of her interests require skill development, like tennis and dance. She needs practice and confidence, which can be hard for her when she makes mistakes. While not all of her confidence comes from me, part of it does. The same goes for her education; although I may want to rush through our bedtime routine, I know that spending time on a good book is essential.
Her personality is evolving too—she’s testing boundaries. At day camp this summer, she transitioned to a new age group with older girls and teenage counselors. Sometimes, she can be rude or defiant. I know she’s navigating her limits and likely feeling overwhelmed, but it’s a side of her I struggle to accept. We’ve had to reconsider our approach to consequences, as there’s often no clear right answer.
While I want to discipline her, I also see that she’s becoming more like me. She’s nervous, striving for perfection, and can be hard on herself when she falters. She’s a deep thinker, asking questions beyond her years, while simultaneously craving attention and wishing to retreat. These traits are inherent to her character, not simply learned behaviors.
Most significantly, she’s observing everything now—how I react, the words I choose, and how my partner and I communicate. It’s a heavy realization: my daughters will model their lives after me, whether consciously or not. The responsibility feels more profound, and I’m striving to set a positive example. I’m working on being generous and kind, truly trying to improve myself for their sake.
Sooner than I anticipate, my daughter will transition into her tween and teen years, capable of addressing her own needs, but facing challenges that may be far more significant than disliking frozen meatballs. Even as I impart lessons, my control will diminish. I’ll need to trust that she makes the right choices when confronted with difficult decisions. The pressure of that thought is daunting.
During the early years of motherhood, I often noticed a pattern: just when I felt overwhelmed and thought I couldn’t endure another moment of a particular challenge, it would ease. Then, as life settled into a new rhythm and I told myself that it had gotten easier, a new challenge would arise.
It gets harder again.
Let’s stop telling new moms that it gets easier. That’s an unfair promise for the toughest job in the world. We simply become better equipped to handle the changes.
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Summary:
Parenthood is often portrayed as a journey that becomes easier over time. However, the reality is that while challenges may shift, they do not necessarily diminish. As children grow, parents find themselves facing new hurdles that require different skills. The essence of parenting lies in improving one’s ability to adapt to these changes rather than expecting the experience to become simpler.