Back in 1988, when I was just nine years old, I often found myself daydreaming about my future family while watching my mom effortlessly juggle motherhood. I envisioned a charming nursery filled with Laura Ashley decor, lovingly arranged by a husband who looked a bit like a young Jonathan Brandis. My thoughts were blissfully naive, focused solely on the sweet moments of feeding, burping, and the delightful scent of baby clothes. I never considered the bigger picture—what it would truly mean to raise little ones into independent individuals.
This reality hit me square in the face during a lengthy Christmas break with my husband at home. I’d manage to clean the kitchen and vacuum the floors, patting myself on the back for doing it all while the kids were around. Anyone who’s been in this situation knows the chaos of cleaning with children nearby—it’s a delicate dance of tidying and managing. Just when I thought I could finally dive into my new library book, one of my kids would inevitably approach with requests like, “Mom, where are my pants?” or “Can you get me a cup of water?”
In those moments, my first instinct is often to groan at having to leave my cozy spot. But then, a nagging thought creeps in: “What if I regret not being there for them later?” After all, the wise ones remind us, “Babies don’t last forever!” and “Kids grow up so fast!” Experiencing how quickly a newborn can transform into a rambunctious toddler, I find myself wanting to seize every opportunity to be present. What if tomorrow I can’t?
It’s a heavy realization. I think of the heartbreaking stories around me—the child who lost a battle with a brain tumor, the teenager taken too soon in an accident, the couple desperately longing for a child. Suddenly, it feels selfish not to jump up and say “yes” to my kids’ needs.
The day I first met my daughter was surreal. Under the harsh lighting of the hospital, I caught a glimpse of her before she was whisked away into the NICU, a stark reminder of how helpless I felt. In those early days, all I could do was lay there, stitched up and longing to hold her. So when I learned we could take her home, even with special care requirements, I was overjoyed and dove headfirst into doing everything for her.
Fast forward to today, and she’s nearly ten. When I ask her to brush her hair, I often hear a sigh followed by, “Can’t you just do it? You always do it faster!” This raises a question for me: Is faster always better?
Yet, I find myself continuously giving in to the temptation of doing tasks for her because it’s simply easier. Hair brushing, tooth brushing, cleaning rooms, setting the table, and yes, even helping with homework—guilty as charged! I know, I know, it sounds shocking, but the guilt of not being present for my kids translates into a fear of losing precious moments with them.
So, I embrace the chaos, even if it means wiping sticky mouths or occasionally signing my child’s name on a paper (and doing it in a rather questionable handwriting).
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In summary, I continue to embrace the imperfections of motherhood, knowing full well that every moment—no matter how chaotic—holds value.