I remember my baby shower well. I’d never changed a diaper. The only babysitting experience I had was playing with younger cousins on holidays with many other relatives nearby. I even remember telling my mom after the shower that I was so ready for the baby to come so that I could finally sleep comfortably. (Oh, the sheer hilarity of that statement…) I was bright with expectation about the kind of parent I was going to be. Organized. In Control. Intentional. How hard could this really be?
Flash forward a decade or so and two active children later and the only comfortable or somewhat complete night sleep I’ve gotten was at an Air BnB in Charleston in 2012.
But I wouldn’t trade it for the world. See, one of the truths about parenting is that just when you think you have it figured out something else strikes out of the clear blue. Another parenting rite of passage.
How many of the following parenting badges have you earned?
1. You’ve changed a blowout diaper in the back of a car using a manila folder as a changing pad, or even better, in mid-air without the child or the diaper ever touching the ground.
2. You have scrubbed lipstick, glitter glue or permanent marker stick-figure drawings of your family off walls, a brand new farmhouse table or upholstery.
3. You have battle scars (and PTSD) from assembling a basketball goal, bike or trampoline. Bonus points for all three. Triple bonus points for doing this in the wee hours of the morning before a birthday or on Christmas Eve.
4. You have jammed out to Baby Shark or Kidz Bop for nearly five minutes after dropping your child off at daycare before realizing you were the only one left in the vehicle.
5. You have apologetically abandoned merchandise in the checkout line of a store and exited the premises, with your screaming child fireman-style under one arm and collapsible stroller under the other.
6. You have expert ability to assess in mere seconds whether an injury needs stitches or whether a butterfly bandage and a kiss on the forehead will do the trick.
7. After a particularly busy week and the inability to make it to the grocery store, you have packed a lunchbox with such randomness as a handful of pistachios, a dinner roll, a leftover packet of Chick-fil-A sauce and one large carrot and hoped that your child’s teacher would not call you.
8. You have been presented with a note that says, “You are so mean,” or “You don’t love me,” because your child did not get his or her way.
9. You have been chastised by your preteen for both neglecting her because you were the “only” parent not to chaperone the class field trip and also for not giving her enough breathing room – all within the same conversation.
10. You can’t wait until your child is more independent but a little piece of your heart breaks as she pedals her bike out of sight for the first time, or when she says she doesn’t want you to walk in with her, or as you drive away from summer camp.
I know we are over halfway through the time they will likely be under our roof. Some days I run my hand over the no-longer-new farmhouse table, lingering over the darkened spot where I rubbed and scrubbed with every internet trick in the book to remove that stick figure drawing of our family of four in black sharpie. And part of me is glad it didn’t come all the way out.
