I thought I had it all figured out with three children. After all, I had successfully carried a large package from the post office to my car, wrangling two kids in the process—one sprinting ahead while the other lagged behind—all while being eight months pregnant. Surely, caring for an infant would be similar.
And it is, sort of. Except that the little bundle of joy requires constant attention, which often reminds my older two that they need things too. They have a knack for waiting until the most inconvenient moments to shout their demands for snacks or bathroom breaks, or to request whatever I had just offered them while I was knee-deep in diaper duty. Some days leave me drained, while others are delightful (but still exhausting).
So, thank you. Thank you for taking a moment to see me. Thank you for offering your assistance—even if I don’t always accept it—your kindness truly means a lot.
You observed me wrestling with the infant carrier, usually a straightforward task. However, while I was trying to reach that stubborn buckle behind my neck, I juggled a wailing baby on my chest. It could have been my hair obstructing my view or the squirming little one, but no matter how I tried, those buckles just wouldn’t connect. You kindly asked if you could help. Thank you.
You noticed me swaying gently to soothe my nearly asleep baby while keeping an eye on my other two kids, who were gleefully running circles around the picnickers as we awaited our food. As I filled a mini cup with ketchup, preparing to balance two overflowing plates back to my older children, you offered your assistance. Thank you.
You saw me as I attempted to guide my two little ones toward the ice cream line, their excitement palpable as they bounced and shouted their flavor preferences. With a baby cradled in one arm and my other hand overloaded with lunch debris, I searched for a trash can. You offered to help. Thank you.
You witnessed my struggle with a particularly stubborn stroller. No amount of pushing, pulling, or silent cursing seemed to make it budge. Just when I was about to give up, beads of sweat forming on my brow, you walked by and offered your assistance. Thank you.
You saw me coaxing my very tired three-year-old, who was ten paces behind me, toward the park exit. Using my most patient voice, I tried to encourage her to take those last few steps. As you walked by with a group of friends and their seemingly well-behaved kids, you suggested we moms should fist bump each other during tough times like this. Thank you.
You’ve picked up fallen pacifiers, chased after me with lost shoes, held doors open, helped my children dismount swings, and shared empathetic stories of exhaustion. Thank you.
When my five-year-old daughter, fueled by sugar and a recent scolding, locked me out of the house and ignored my gentle and forceful knocks, I hesitated to seek help. I thought she would eventually let me in, but I had never felt such utter helplessness. It’s challenging to confront circumstances beyond your control, especially when they involve a sugar-induced spirited child. With my phone locked inside, a baby in my arms, and a very sticky, pant-less daughter at my side, I found you on the sidewalk. You didn’t judge as I explained my predicament and asked to use your phone. You listened compassionately, making small talk to distract me as we walked back to my house. You patiently waited while I explained the situation to my husband through your phone. You stood by until my cheeky daughter finally opened the door, her smile radiant, my phone in her hand, and her dad on the screen. Thank you.
It takes a village, and I’m grateful for my capable body, my supportive husband, and a wonderful circle of family and friends. And then there are you, the kind strangers who fill in the gaps. I never fully understood how that African proverb about raising a child also applies to raising a parent until now. Your kindness does not go unnoticed. One day, when my hands are a bit less full, I promise to pay it forward.
Thank you.