Several months ago, our eleven-year-old suddenly morphed from a little kid into a tweenager. This (literal and figurative) development thrilled Lili and terrified us. Shortly thereafter, we discovered that my clothes and shoes fit her, another milestone which delighted her but struck fear into my heart. Lil now calls everyone “bruh” and does a
…a funny thing happens as you get older (besides hangovers becoming more painful): you start to prioritize things differently.
We all know vacations are a lot of work for parents. We did it all. Packing, organizing, schlepping, baby wearing, comforting, mediating, planning and plan-b’ing, but you know what I did most of all? I breastfed my baby all over Disney World. I mean it too. Holly got feedings and extra-feedings…
And, I knew what she needed. She did not need my judgment. She did not need me to walk past. She needed grace. She needed kindness. She needed understanding from one mother to another. She needed a village.
But, then I found myself fallen from a treadmill at 9:45 at night with bruised and battered legs. “Jerry, HELP!”
At almost 42, I’ve been a bit more reflective of who I’ve become. I understand that we, as people, are always changing and growing but the beauty of being in my 40s is I can actually say, about many of my quirks and traits, “well, this is me!” and not really care much about what others think about it.
Sometimes during a stressful day, week or quarter we (moms) doubt why we work. There are a lot of easy answers (the personal fulfillment, money, human interaction, and more), yet, while home on an extended maternity leave I have discovered another reason why being a working mom is a good thing.
I always dreamed of having three kids and life did, in fact, bless me with three beautiful children. One boy, one girl, and one child who falls somewhere in between.
So, this parenting thing. It’s a learning process for sure. For her and for me. I have to step up the teaching. And not take it personally when she points out my missteps. Because I’ll continue to make them.
I am going to spare you the running list of tasks that I performed or the lengths that I went to in order to achieve Super Mom status, but just know that I honestly did it all. Everything. I was a machine, literally. There was no time to be human. I was killing myself going through the motions, taking care of everyone and everything. And, sometimes, it felt awesome. I was unstoppable. I equated controlling the chaos with greatness. Therefore, I was a great mom.