It was just another typical Friday afternoon in my backyard when I came to a realization about the aspects of motherhood that I find most challenging. My friend, Jenna, who is single, had come over to visit. While I was busy grilling dinner, I lamented my decision to forgo the convenience of a Costco rotisserie chicken due to an article I read on the potential risks of carrageenan.
As Jenna attempted to entertain my children, I tried to manage the chaos—herding my toddler away from the dog’s food and soothing the baby’s coos. Our conversation drifted to her weekend plans, which made me feel a pang of envy. She had exciting options, like dinner reservations at a chic restaurant, an evening of jazz and wine at a modern art museum, or a casual meetup at a trendy gastropub downtown. In less than an hour, she would leave me to navigate the evening’s bedtime routines and cranky kids while she indulged in a long, uninterrupted shower and slipped into stylish outfits.
Imagining her night out, filled with carefree possibilities, made me reflect on the stark contrast of our lives. Jenna could embrace spontaneity, perhaps even indulge in a night of revelry, while I would be tethered to the demands of motherhood. It was in that moment I recognized the true difficulty of parenting—not the challenges I had anticipated.
It’s not the dreaded diaper blowouts—those messy surprises often occur when you’re least prepared or wearing white. Nor is it the stretch marks that stubbornly remain despite pricey creams and serums. The endless crying—be it the newborn’s colic, the teething pains of a six-month-old, or the inevitable tantrums—while exasperating, also doesn’t top my list. I even thought I’d handle sleep deprivation better with my second child, but I was mistaken.
I’ve misplaced car keys in the freezer and slept through my firstborn’s antics, like spilling kefir on the floor. The exhaustion has been overwhelming at times, but despite all these challenges, the hardest part of motherhood is something I continue to grapple with, even two years and two kids later.
What truly weighs on me is the realization that I will never feel completely free again. The freedom to wander aimlessly through the night, to float from one lively gathering to another, is a luxury of the past. I can no longer lose track of time, whether on the dance floor or during a long run; my children’s needs are always at the forefront of my mind.
Coming to terms with the fact that I’ll never venture out into the world without feeling an undeniable pull back to my kids—like an invisible cord connecting us—brings both a sense of joy and a hint of melancholia. Sure, I can hire a babysitter and enjoy a night out, potentially even dancing, but a part of me will always be anxious, ready to rush home to check on my little ones.
I find myself longing for the emotional independence I used to have. Even a quick trip to Target feels incomplete without them, as I worry and wonder if they’re doing okay. This realization hits hard; the weight of love for these small beings is exhausting. While my children are undoubtedly the best part of my life, the lack of freedom that comes with this love is the hardest aspect of being a parent.
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In summary, while there are many challenges to parenting, the emotional tether created by love for your children is what makes it uniquely daunting.