So when my first child was born, as soon as we left the hospital full of helpful nurses and all-knowing doctors, about twenty-four hours after giving birth, I was overwhelmed with a sensation that many of us mothers likely experience. This newborn, exciting, hoped for, anxiously awaited, prayed for, delightful little baby person was now fully my responsibility. Many in my life, including his father, were around to “help”, but the bottom line still overwhelmingly sunk in that this miniature human being was 100% dependent upon me.
He couldn’t move from where he was placed, eat, crawl, walk, play, get out of the house in case of a fire, or ask for what he needed – nothing, absolutely nothing, without me. Okay, I adapted. Life moved forward and like the frog who doesn’t hop out of the pot of gradually heating water because he gets used to it, along came another baby, and more responsibility, and work, and so forth.
Before I knew it, they were moving out to pursue higher education ventures, leaving me crying in their wake. The same house that felt wonderful when we bought it before they were born, now felt vacuous, and unbelievably lonely. But in between, and I have added it up, my ultra conservative estimate is that I said, “Did you brush your teeth?” approximately 24,090 times. No joke. I’ve done the math. It’s a conservative estimate.
The journey from being 100% responsible for my little creations, to biting my tongue and not stating the obvious because I will insult their intelligence, is something that nobody really prepared me for. Twenty-eight and twenty-five years later, I try to think before I open my mouth so that I don’t say something that is eye-rolling worthy, even if they are polite enough to do it in their minds instead of on their faces. The more I dilute my conversation with blah, blah, of course, type of statements, the less they will pay attention to what I am saying all of the time.
But try it. Try to change so drastically. It was my job to educate them! For years! About EVERYTHING! “What this?” “It’s a light switch. Look over there, it will make that light turn on.” “What that?” “It’s a can opener, it will open this can of food so we can eat it. Watch me turn the handle and see the blade cut through the thick metal.”
Try it when you have taken your role to heart. How come nobody ever pointed out how much I needed to change? It blows me away that all of us parents, maybe mothers particularly, travel this journey, and that no one mentions it.
I guess I changed gradually along with them, but probably not gracefully. I could’ve been more graceful had I been more aware. Like when they were finally old enough to leave in the car by themselves, but still kids. I used to get out and lock the doors, turn to them and say, “Don’t let anyone steal you.” My joke. I thought it was good tongue-in-cheek, but maybe just a little bit making a point to be aware of their surroundings, and put up a stink in case something bad began to happen. Until the day they drove, got out of the car, turned to me and said, “Don’t let anybody steal you.” I thought, “Oh my gosh, that’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.” Ridiculous. It still makes me laugh.
And this week my tongue is bleeding. But I did it. I passed another test. I did not ask my twenty-eight year old if he was in the precarious position of needing to leave his twenty-five thousand dollars of SnapOn tools in his three thousand dollar SnapOn toolbox overnight in the back of his pickup truck as he was finalizing his cross country move.
I’m so glad I didn’t, because he did. And it’s all good. All good. Yay me.
Somebody Else's Wisdom 