Do you ever have those days when you are sure you’re doing everything wrong as a parent? Some days are just harder than others and no matter how many smiles are in the room and how many well-lit photographs you’ve taken, there is a heaviness that you can’t seem to shake.
Before Ella was born, I didn’t ever experience fear when it came to parenting. I never worried that she wouldn’t be healthy and whole. I didn’t consider hard questions and dramatic personalities and conflict. I dreamed of sunshine and unicorns and romanticized how lovely it would be to have my very own doll baby. Talk about reality check. By all accounts we had easy babies. We skipped tubes and colic, they both slept through the night at five weeks old, they were early walkers and talkers and we didn’t have to navigate murky waters of criers or whiners or hard to figure outers. By the time nursery school rolled around, they were full of personality and mischievous grins and no matter how mad we were about broken windows and spilled milk, we couldn’t find it in our hearts to scold them. Those are the golden years – the days when parenting seems easy and you know you are capable of adding more to the brood without disrupting the perfect balance. Then elementary school happens and all bets are off.
I’ve shared this before, but parenting Ella is hard. Not because of anything she does or doesn’t do, but because she’s brilliant and asks tough questions and because she is EXACTLY LIKE ME. Have you ever tried having a rational conversation with yourself? Or disciplining a child for something that you yourself did only thirty seconds before? It’s brutal and it leaves you with a bitterness that tastes a lot like guilt. It’s hardest when you had this image in your head of how something might go and one wrong word from your mouth makes it all tumble down like building blocks.
The whys and the hows aren’t important. She is a beautiful child with the greatest sense of humor and the biggest laugh you’ll ever hear. She loves Jesus and when I reminded her yesterday that it was the one year anniversary of her baptism, her entire face lit up. She’s brave and conscientious and kind. She’s got great intuition and can sort out a fib or a cover up story in ten seconds flat. She isn’t the problem. I am. I caused a major meltdown on Saturday and afterwards I was frustrated with myself and asked Josh to help me see where we went off the rails. He warned me before he spoke some wisdom and although he first reminded me that I’m a great parent, he shared some hard truths with me. I don’t know what else to say except that parenting is tough. There are no unicorns and no doll babies. There is only try and try harder and beg for forgiveness and hope and that nothing you are doing will cause permanent damage.
What I hope she’ll remember about this weekend: that I picked up Zaxby’s for dinner on Friday because it’s her favorite // that I got to watch her jazz routine at the studio on Saturday morning and could not contain my smile // that we met daddy for lunch and watched SEC gymnastics on TV while we ate // the drawings we made together before church // picking up a sponsorship packet for Compassion International and talking about Rose // an afternoon pedicure with plenty of giggles // a haircut and a grocery store run // playing in the sprinklers at the baseball field at sunset.
What I hope I remember about this weekend: that Josh is far wiser than I am // the look on her face when I invited her for an afternoon adventure // the way she spun around in the the water and held Sophie’s hand as they ran // the sound of her laugh when the sweet lady at the salon tickled her feet.
