The Precious Confusion

Parenting is so full of contradictions.  You look into your baby's sweet face and swear you will do anything for them, be the best person you can ever be. And yet, through parenting them, you quickly discover your own limitations in temper, patience, endurance.  You can't imagine not being there to parent your babies, and yet their very existence makes it so easy to forget your own self-care and health.  You love your kids so much you would lay down your life for them in a heartbeat, but then again, they can drive you completely batty and you long for time away from them.

You've all heard me complaining about how tired I am, how much I need space and time alone and sleep and all that stuff.  My husband has certainly heard it a lot, in various forms, ranging from meltdown form to humorous form.  So, last weekend I asked Sean to give me the gift of most of a day to myself.  I wanted a day where I wasn't the primary parent in charge, where I could sleep in and then just drift around doing things I wanted to do, or not doing anything, nap when I wanted instead of trying to make it happen when the Boodge napped, not worry about making breakfast or lunch or dinner or snacks or cleaning them up.  Sure, Sean said.  I want to help.  I'll take Boodge to the pool, I'll take him to the harbor to watch the boats. We'll have a fun day together. 

So the day before my "day off", I'm at the playground with my cousin trying to explain how all day I've been trying NOT to say, "Oh, you don't have to take him OUT all day! You can play at home." Or I'm wondering, "Do I really need the whole day? What will I do with all that time? Maybe I should just ask for the afternoon." My cousin, who doesn't have kids, gave me a look that said I was clearly insane and quickly listed a several things people do with time to themselves. 

But it's the nature of being a Mom.  I crave time away from my little man, yet I miss him the minute he leaves my care.  As my day went on, I was looking so forward to seeing his little face and hearing his demands for "Mommy!"  It's the same thing with bedtime.  I am always SO relieved to see the end of the day, and his sweet sleeping face as a signal that my work is done for now.  But often, I find myself waking before him, and lying in bed looking forward to the moment he will come bouncing into the room. 

Which brings on another contradiction.  Now, I hesitate to write this because I know how the Great Mother likes to play with us on these things. But for one solid week now, Boodge has not woken up in the night.  He goes to bed, and the next time we hear from him is sometime after 6am when he's ready to start his day.  This is unprecedented.  For the first year and a half of his life he woke up probably every 1-3 hours, and thereafter there has always been at least one or two wake-ups in the night.  This will sound crazy, but I think it's because we just got him a lighter blanket.  He never wanted to use his blanket because it was heavy (Mom, you told me so), and I think he got cold in the night and wanted cuddles.  Now, he sleeps with a fleece blanket, doubled over, and he doesn't need us anymore.

And how am I feeling about it all.  Relieved, of course, and proud of him for taking the next step in independence.  But also, a twinge of sadness.  He doesn't need us anymore.  He's growing up so fast.  He's going to be 3 and 4 and 5 and 6 and soon he won't want to cuddle, won't want to hug and kiss in public.  Sigh.  And another ridiculous part of it is I still wake up most nights and wonder if he's OK, and have to check on him just to be sure.   You'd think after two and a half years of interrupted sleep I'd be unequivocally ecstatic about this development.  But no. Contradictions. 

I know I'm normal.  I've seen friends send their kids off to kindergarten with a bittersweet mix of pride and regret, or cry when they put the baby things away.  Parenting is a constant push and pull of wanting to see them grow up, but wanting them to stay little.  Wanting to just get through this moment, and then wanting to freeze this other beautiful moment forever.   It's confusing sometimes, trying to make sense of all these conflicting feelings, and sometimes hard to not push them forward or hold them back out of our own needs.  But such a precious confusion.  Just remember, parents out there, when you're telling yourself "This too shall pass,"--when it does, you may just find yourself wishing it would come back.