“Raising children is enjoyable, but those babies eventually turn into individuals.” – Inspired by Colonel Potter, M*A*S*H
As an avid reader of memoirs, I often find myself immersed in poignant narratives that recount childhoods interrupted by parental missteps. These stories do little to soothe my own anxieties about parenting. Instead, they leave me pondering what my children might reveal in therapy sessions one day. If they seek professional help, however, I remind myself that I must have done something right and take a moment to celebrate small victories in my parenting journey.
Time is often viewed as a great educator, and many professions become easier with experience. Yet, parenting defies this trend. While I may have mastered the art of caring for an infant or a toddler, just as I began to feel competent, the dynamics shifted, requiring me to adapt once more.
I once struggled to envision a time when my children wouldn’t demand my attention every second of the day. I yearned for moments when they could independently feed and bathe themselves, which felt like a distant fantasy. Then came the day when both of my children swam independently at the local pool, earning their green bands. That achievement marked a newfound freedom for me, a glimpse into life without a child constantly by my side—a new chapter began.
Now, at 9 and 11 years old, I appreciate their growing independence. They need me less for daily tasks, capable of preparing their own snacks, doing their laundry, and even putting themselves to bed. Although I relish this newfound ease, I also recognize a deeper, more significant challenge ahead.
My children now require my guidance as they transition into adulthood. They need my support to navigate a complex world that can often be unkind. I must help them understand concepts like love, rejection, loyalty, and perseverance. The concerns of sleep schedules and physical milestones have faded, only to be replaced by higher stakes; the nature of my role has evolved. I find myself nostalgic for the days when parenting felt more straightforward.
Recently, my partner and I discussed a friend who just welcomed a newborn. He jokingly questioned our ability to offer parenting advice, highlighting our current struggles with our strong-willed kids. We often wonder if we’ve somehow failed in our parenting journey.
Yet, I quickly countered his jest. “We were great at that stage.” He concurred, acknowledging that, despite our present challenges, we were effective parents during the infant years. I diligently read parenting books, maintained sleep schedules, and ensured we met every milestone. Those early years were dedicated solely to my children; I was their primary caregiver, and I took pride in my role.
Fast forward to today, and those kids can handle many tasks on their own. They can prepare their own lunches and read by themselves at night. They may not be able to drive yet, but their independence has blossomed in countless other ways.
Just the other day, my daughter excitedly shared that they were having a “free-range kid day” at school, where they would be responsible for their meals and schedule. Her pride in making wise choices was palpable. This is what we aim for, right? To empower them to make responsible decisions? Still, I felt a mix of emotions about this new independence.
As motherhood evolves, I find myself questioning my role. With a full-time career and personal pursuits, I am not as physically present as before. However, I hope my new role as a parent includes being a living example of balance and growth. My goal is to instill a love for learning in my children while also demonstrating the value of meaningful human connections.
Despite my efforts, I often feel less like an expert in parenting. I regularly miss school emails and forget to sign up for activities like gymnastics. The once tangible messes of infancy have transformed into emotional and behavioral complexities during these tween years. At times, I feel unprepared for this more intricate phase of parenting. Looking back at baby photos, I long for the simplicity of snuggles and lullabies that could soothe all worries.
It’s easy to romanticize my early days as a mother and believe I was more successful then. During those times, achievements were clear-cut; if they slept, ate, and wore clean clothes, I was winning. Today, success is far less quantifiable. Are they thriving as students, siblings, and friends? As their reliance on me decreases for basic needs, am I providing the emotional support they truly require? I like to think I’ve laid a solid foundation. I cherish the moments I spent at home with them when they were entirely dependent on me, but as they gain their wings, I see them testing their limits and exploring the world.
While I may no longer need to dress and feed them, my emotional presence is more crucial than ever. Their need for support and understanding is far more demanding than the days of diaper changes and midnight feedings. The emotional labor involved is profound and entwined with factors beyond my control. I must be ready to embrace each new phase of their lives, and together, we are crafting our family story one chapter at a time. I can only hope that in the future, my partner and I will look back on this time and say, “Who would have thought? We actually navigated this stage pretty well.”
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