by Elizabeth Small
I was the sort of not-uncommon-but-woefully-ignorant pregnant lady who believed I could somehow do this parenting thing differently. Yes, I was familiar with the entirety of human history and the overwhelming evidence that “different” was impossible. But I thought, “Hey, I’ll just do this my way.”
It’s not exactly that I thought other people were doing something wrong; I just had a base-level feeling that my husband and I had always been a bit different. In our naivete, we felt our love was so exceptional that our parenting would follow suit.
I envisioned parenthood as a montage of beautiful, well-lit scenes, from the perfect labor and delivery experience to flawless 1st-birthday parties and beyond. During those 9 months of my first pregnancy, my husband and I enjoyed smug comfort in the fact that we didn’t stop traveling, hiking or camping simply because we were expanding. We imagined that after kids, it would be the same.
It was not.
Take, for instance, last weekend, when our family went for a hike to witness the beautiful New England foliage. Before we had kids, getting ready to hike meant simply waking up and rolling over in bed to ask my husband, “Hey, honey. Want to go for a hike?” And just like that, we would go.
Now it’s not so simple. What once required a simple question now reads something like this:
Kids, we are going to go for a family hike today!
Yes, just our family.
Why are you crying?
Daddy and I are fun.
Take a deep breath.
No, this is not the worst day of your life.
Fine, but you had better have pants on in five minutes.
Please get your sister’s underwear off your head.
It’s not a hat.
Have you gone to the potty?
Have you gone to the potty?
Have you gone to the potty?
GO TO THE POTTY!
It is sunny; you don’t need a flashlight.
I promise, we are not going to get lost.
Do you think a princess costume is really the best hiking gear?
Where are your shoes?
Please try to stop crying.
There are about 200 reasons why you should change out of flip-flops.
This water bottle is fine.
We lost that other water bottle two years ago.
Why are there crayons all over the floor? We are cleaning up before we leave!
Honey, did you get the hiking pack?
Okay, I’ll grab the epi-pen, inhaler, snacks, and first aid kit. You make lunches.
Have you gone to the potty (kids, not husband)?
Oh stop crying. It’s going to be fun.
I don’t care who started it. Just get away from each other and put on your shoes.
Fine, wear the friggin’ princess dress. Just put on your shoes.
No, you can’t move to New York with Auntie.
Okay, good luck getting there.
Well, I’m sorry to hear that but I am glad that you are my daughter.
Why is your shoe in the dishwasher?
Where did my keys go?
Get that out of your mouth!
By the time we arrived at the trailhead, I was exhausted, cranky and ready to move to New York myself. And the kids weren’t much better, requiring significant prodding and convincing during that first part of the hike.
But somewhere along that trail, all the stress fell away as I watched with intoxicating joy as my daughters helped each other up a rock scramble, giggling with beauty and pride. I felt my husband’s hand brush along and then grab mine tightly, and when I turned to look in his eyes, I felt life could not be more perfect. It wasn’t the scene I had imagined; it was something even more beautiful.
It reminded me of an incident a few months ago, when my husband was telling a group of friends about the time he and I were trapped on a tarmac in Cairo for 10 hours, without food or climate control, while I was already quite ill. Once he finished, a man said, “You see? This why I don’t like to travel. I bet you regret that one!”
He was surprised to hear my husband and I reply in unison that we would do it again in a minute. Yes, that experience in the desert was brutal. But it meant we got to see another corner of the world and share a crazy story about it years later.
I think that parenting is like that. Yeah, it’s not what I imagined. And there are times when it feels too much, whether it’s tending to a sick kid or just trying to get out the door. But I would sign up for this parenting gig again in a minute, just for those moments like the one on the mountain.
The poet Malek Salaam wrote, “Remember that even the beauty of birth leaves its own scars, and know that you will find your home right where you are.” Indeed, the best parts of life are not the easy ones.
Elizabeth Small is a lawyer by training, writer by nature, and wife and mother by spirit. She has lived up and down the east coast of the United States, in Miami, Washington, D.C., and Boston, and now resides in Connecticut.
Katey Zara-Smith says
So true! Doing all the outdoor things my husband I loved to do pre-kids is harder, but infinitely more rewarding, especially when my daughter talks about how much she loves to hike and camp. It took until she was about 7-8 for it to become something she actually wanted to do, but now being active outdoors is our favorite type of family fun. Persevere through the tears- the kids will thank you for it later!
Heather Mundt says
I agree. Gotta stick with it until the kids can’t help BUT like the outdoors. Glad you enjoyed Elizabeth’s story. It certainly made me giggle!