A few weeks ago, I received a message from my sister, who welcomed her third child in February. Her message read, “Please tell me you have days when it feels unbearable, when the only escape you can think of is walking out the front door. I just need to hear that from someone else.” I chuckled softly, understanding the seriousness behind her words. Instantly, I thought of replies like “nearly every day” and “just this morning” and “there are moments when it feels like every minute is a struggle.”
Parenting is undeniably challenging. It remains the most difficult task I have ever undertaken, surpassing my experiences of running six miles in oppressive humidity or pushing a double stroller up steep hills during marathon training. Even working for a demanding boss pales in comparison.
There are countless moments in my day when I contemplate giving up and fleeing to the serene Riverwalk in San Antonio, where my partner and I enjoyed life before the arrival of our children—a life devoid of panic at the thought of a child wandering too close to a ledge, where I envision jumping into murky water to save them.
Just last week, while transferring laundry from the washer to the dryer—two minutes, if that—I turned to find one of my twins back inside, the unmistakable scent of gasoline filling the air. “Why does the house smell like gasoline?” I asked, half-heartedly. The guilty look in his eyes told me everything.
Moments later, his twin entered, reeking of gasoline as well. My gaze fell on the deck, where they had clearly not taken the time to hide their mischief. Their father’s gas can, typically stored behind a locked door, had somehow been accessed. They had managed to pour gasoline—less than half a gallon—across the deck, the grass, and themselves. Thankfully, no one in our household smokes, or we could have faced a catastrophic situation.
I promptly placed them in the bath (which was not part of the morning’s agenda) while their baby brother wailed downstairs in his jumper seat, distressed by the solitude. My partner quickly hosed down the deck and saturated the grass, fearing the sweltering Texas sun might ignite the gasoline—an anxious thought indeed.
That morning encapsulated what I deem a “throw-in-the-towel” day. It’s nearly impossible to stay one step ahead in my home. Fully toddler-proofing each room feels like an unattainable goal. It would take an army of me to keep them from exploring every tantalizing object within reach.
In moments of frustration, I used to feel guilty for wishing things were different—for pondering life without twins, for yearning for a moment of peace to catch my breath and rekindle my appreciation for them. Yet, I’ve learned a crucial lesson in my parenting journey: feeling overwhelmed doesn’t equate to a lack of love. Even when we wish for a break, our love remains steadfast and unwavering.
These little, unpredictable beings can be delightful and exasperating in equal measure. There are days when I relish coloring alongside my toddlers, basking in their laughter, and then there are days when I contemplate listing them on a free online marketplace (though I’d have to embellish the description, something like “Two well-behaved twins, ages unknown.”).
There are moments I cherish, reminiscing about their early days in the NICU, hoping they would learn to eat, juxtaposed with days when they plunge their hands into the toilet, driven by curiosity (a behavior we’ve unfortunately navigated before).
Parenting is a demanding endeavor. Raising children to become decent individuals is a responsibility fraught with challenges. Along the way, we often feel like surrendering. This reality is simply part of the experience.
So, I quickly replied to my dear sister, “Yes, I absolutely understand. It’s a daily occurrence, but it doesn’t make you a bad mother.”
Because it doesn’t. The tension between our urge to escape and the knowledge that we cannot ultimately strengthens our parenting skills. It shapes us into more empathetic individuals.
Just the other day, my toddler discovered an unguarded can of paint, resulting in a vibrant, albeit unintended, mural on our pantry wall. By the time this journey concludes, I’m bound to emerge as an incredibly resilient person.
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Summary
Parenting can often feel overwhelming, filled with moments of frustration and doubt. However, the love we hold for our children remains constant, even on the toughest days. Embracing both the challenges and joys of parenthood helps us grow stronger, more compassionate individuals.