Parenting
By Harper Claire
Updated: July 27, 2016
Originally Published: June 26, 2014
I apologize for staring at you in the grocery store today. I didn’t mean to make you feel uneasy while you were busy scanning your cereal, diapers, and orange juice at the self-checkout. You were simply stunning, with those long legs and that flat stomach, dressed in stain-free clothes. I couldn’t help but wish to be you: effortlessly beautiful and seemingly perfect.
I’m sorry for staring at you during soccer practice this morning. I promise I wasn’t judging you for being late or for the playful chaos as your kids tumbled out of your minivan, still getting dressed. I noticed your wedding ring was missing and wondered if you were managing everything on your own. I admired your strength as you kept everything together when your partner wasn’t present at the game, in your marriage, or in your children’s lives.
I’m sorry for staring at you at urgent care last week. I wasn’t overly concerned about your kid’s runny nose or barking cough being contagious—okay, maybe a little. But mostly, I could see how exhausted you were, having spent the night waiting and worrying. I wished I could tell you, “It’s alright, you’re doing your best, and that’s enough for her.”
I’m sorry for staring at you in Babies ‘R’ Us yesterday. I didn’t mean to invade your space like one of those people who can’t help but touch a stranger’s pregnant belly or share their long-winded birth story. You reminded me of myself six years ago, and I could see the mixture of joy, discomfort, and a hint of fear on your face. I wanted to let you know that peepee teepees are useless, but those little mittens for newborns are a must. Most importantly, I wanted to tell you, “You’ve got this. Trust your instincts, love your child, and cherish these moments. Before you know it, you’ll be a seasoned pro staring at a younger version of yourself, reminiscing about how exciting and terrifying it all was.”
I’m sorry for staring at you at the park on Tuesday. I didn’t mean to look like some baby-snatching character from a Lifetime movie. I have three kids of my own, and I couldn’t possibly handle another. I just found myself missing the days when I could focus all my attention on one little person (thankfully my husband understood). I remembered how overwhelmed I felt back then, taking on my new role as seriously as a White House security detail. I wanted to say, “Relax, you’re doing great,” but I know how annoying it can be when well-meaning moms offer that advice, even when it’s true.
I’m sorry for staring at you in the OB/GYN office last month. I didn’t mean to hurt you when I instinctively clutched my pregnant belly upon seeing the tears streaming down your face onto that crumpled ultrasound photo. I just wanted to wrap my arms around you and let you know, “I understand your pain. I’ve been there, and I know you want answers. But remember, ‘this too shall pass.’”
I’m sorry for staring at you in the coffee shop this afternoon. I didn’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable or old while you were enjoying coffee with your grown daughter. I didn’t intend to disrupt your long-overdue catch-up. I was simply admiring the wisdom etched in every line of your face, how comfortable you were in your own skin. I wondered about your life and the stories you carry, hoping your daughter appreciates the gift of having you there and realizes the lessons she can learn from you.
I’m sorry for staring at you in the living room this morning. I didn’t mean to make you think I’d caught you doing something sneaky. I was just marveling at how sweet you are to your brother, thinking how anyone could possess such beautiful eyes. I remembered a time when you were small enough to fit inside my belly. I felt proud of you and thrilled yet terrified to witness your life unfold. I was daydreaming about the amazing person you are and the incredible journey ahead of you, feeling fortunate to call you my daughter.
This article was originally published on June 26, 2014. For more insights on similar topics, check out our post on home insemination, or for authoritative information, visit Make a Mom. If you’re considering fertility treatments, this resource from March of Dimes is an excellent guide.
In summary, sometimes we find ourselves staring—not out of judgment but from a place of admiration, nostalgia, or empathy. We see reflections of our own experiences and feelings in others, reminding us that we are all in this together, navigating the beautiful chaos of life.