My parents didn’t anticipate my arrival, despite trying diligently for seven long years—my mother meticulously charted her temperature every single day after my sister was born. I’m incredibly grateful for all their efforts. I always felt wanted and loved throughout my life, even though I made my entrance into the world in a rather unconventional way on April Fool’s Day. Sorry, Mom.
Growing up, I was enveloped in care from my mom, dad, and older sister. They pampered me, cradled me in their arms. My mother firmly believed that there was no reason a baby should ever cry, which gives you an idea of how little I was put down during my first year. Although I had the usual household rules, I was never deprived of anything. This shaped my expectations of life: a smooth journey where I got what I wanted. And indeed, I rarely expressed discontent.
Becoming a parent is a significant wake-up call for someone who has always felt assured about their place in life. When that tiny, sweet-smelling baby boy was placed in my arms, my confidence shattered. Wait, I’m the adult now? How did this happen?
Even though I was living a conventional adult life—married, employed, with a mortgage and a dog—I truly didn’t feel like an adult until I was responsible for that little life. I was terrified. This fragile being depended entirely on me, and suddenly, nothing was about me anymore. I quickly came to realize that it would never be about me again.
There was a lot of crying—both from me and the baby. “How on earth did you manage to never cry?” I lamented to my mother one evening, convinced she had embellished the truth. “Well, you might have cried occasionally,” she admitted, probably to comfort me.
And things didn’t become any less challenging as he transitioned into toddlerhood, started school, or when his sister arrived. I had to get my act together. I needed to become the responsible mom who prepared meals for the family while soothing a baby and sometimes barely had time to glance at my reflection before dashing out the door. I was now someone’s mom, and they relied on me to nurture them, tell stories, and guide them as they grew.
My children showed me patience as I navigated this new role. They would gently stroke my hand as I shed tears over charred toast. They brought me clumsily cut-out hearts to remind me that I was doing a decent job figuring out how to be the mother they needed. Every sticky hug reinforced that I didn’t need to be perfect; I just had to put in the effort—for them.
I’m still evolving. I don’t always have the answers as a parent. I’m unsure how to react when they bring home poor grades, roll their eyes at me, or use inappropriate language in front of their grandparents. Parenting and personal growth can be chaotic and overwhelming. Now, I’m compensating for all the tears I didn’t shed as a pampered child.
Yet, when I hold their faces and say, “You are amazing. Thank you for choosing me as your mom,” I hope they feel as cherished and wanted as I did. I can still feel my mother’s unwavering embrace, and I know I’m gradually figuring this out, just like a real adult.
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Summary
The author reflects on their upbringing as a coddled child and how becoming a parent transformed their perspective on life. The challenges of parenting, emotional growth, and the nurturing bond shared with their children are explored. The narrative highlights the ongoing journey of learning to be a competent and loving parent while keeping the reader engaged with helpful resources.