Before I can even utter a farewell or wish them a good day, my children are off, weaving through a sea of peers and parents. Just as they blend into the throng heading through the school doors, I catch a glimpse of them reaching for each other’s hands simultaneously. In that fleeting moment, they vanish into the crowd.
I stand on my tiptoes, hoping to glimpse their dark hair or vibrant backpacks one last time. If only I could see a part of them before they disappear, I could send along a silent wish and an invisible embrace as they embark on their days. Yet, the sea of children swiftly fills the space between us.
I yearn for these moments to linger, despite the whirlwind of energy that my boys embody. Even during their squabbles and playful disagreements, I find myself wishing time would slow down. In these instances, I witness them evolving into individuals, navigating their understanding of the world, posing questions, and honing their internal guidance systems. It’s reminiscent of an artist revealing depth on a canvas, as my children take shape in fuller definition.
In the past, I often wished to fast forward through the more challenging stages of parenting, the unending cycle of diaper changes, feedings, and sleepless nights. While many around me seemed eager to cherish those fleeting baby moments, I feared being consumed by the demands of motherhood, overwhelmed by their needs.
Growing up, I had little interest in dolls; my playthings were stuffed animals. I was apprehensive about motherhood. When my first child was born, I often felt trapped, longing to escape the confines of our home. Each minute away from him felt like a weight on my chest, and some days, I fantasized about walking away without looking back.
When my son was merely 16 months old, my husband left for a business trip. A few hours after his departure, I felt a surge of anxiety mixed with my son’s demands, making it hard to breathe. I needed an outlet. As I cradled my son in his crib, I called my husband, expressing my frustrations. “I can’t do this!” The words were raw and painful, but they rang true. He promptly booked a flight home to support me.
At that time, my instinct was to rush through those stages of parenting for the sake of my own well-being. Perhaps it was necessary to propel myself through those moments to reach a point where I could embrace motherhood without feeling as if I was merely playing a role. Now, I resist that urge to hurriedly move forward, doing so for both myself and my children.
As I pick them up from school, they emerge from the crowd just as swiftly as they had vanished earlier. Walking home, I listen to their lighthearted banter and watch them chase each other down the sidewalk, a smile forming on my face. At this moment, I realize I am not anxious; we have found our rhythm. We decide to take a detour to the playground, allowing them to continue their game of tag, reminding myself that there’s no rush to reach our destination.
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In summary, the experience of parenting is a delicate balance of cherishing the present while managing the challenges of growth and development. Each moment, whether joyful or trying, contributes to our evolving relationships and understanding of one another.