While parenting, you question everything. Why wouldn't you? There are a million books, countless magazines, and (ahem) even blogs you read that instruct you on the "dos and don'ts". I admit it. In the beginning, I read them, subscribed to them, even aspired to follow every instruction they gave to the letter...the never ending quest to be a good parent. The notion that you might have no idea what you are doing, and someone who has never even met your offspring should know more than you...makes sense.
I stopped reading the books a long time ago. Trial and error made me feel more human and less inadequate along the way. I still have my worries and concerns, but now they are vastly different than they were 10 years ago when I gained the badge of motherhood. When you are a widow, parenting becomes a whole different ball game. The worry/concerned is amplified to a level that is at times deafening. That scary, frustrating balance of being two parents. Being present but constantly hoping that the one not present IS in some way, shape or form.
Looking at my kids, watching them grow is at times bittersweet and maddening. Seeing how much they have changed on the outside, knowing how much they have changed on the inside...well, at times it could send me straight to the liquor cabinet. Feeling, in a really concrete way, they are all I have. Not only my mark on this world, but profoundly their father's too. I question my methods. I wonder if I am doing enough. I talk a good game, and I act like I have it all together. Then, very unexpectedly, life hits me. All the times it has nudged me before, I've wrapped it up and put it in the bottom drawer, as if to say, "...I'll deal with that later, maybe when I have five minutes to myself..." Later, unfortunately happens when it wants, is amplified, and knocks you out at the knees.
This time, I couldn't avoid it. I saw it in the smallest of behaviors, and the simplest of gestures...apparently, we had all put off feeling some things for a while.OIn one modest Sunday morning, we had a biter and someone packing a bag to run away...now that's a one two punch to the parenting belt. I couldn't stop the emotions that my kids were working through, and I felt the same coming on in myself. We had to deal with it. We had to talk out the hard stuff. We had to cry. We had to find our common ground again. It's always interesting to me that the dread of grief, leads to this feeling of a GIANT exhale. Also, the ability to see life from yet another angle through your kids eyes is life changing...and I'm grateful for it.
I write a lot about Nora as she talks nonstop about everything. I'm surprised and grateful for her strength to be open and honest about how she feels about life. I hope it never goes away. I worrying about my kids has become my unpaid second job, I'm at odds most when I think of Atticus. He has no capability of remembering Jason. He was only 9 months old when his dad passed away, yet somehow he understands the concept of parents. I've seen him playing with action figures or doll house dolls. He gets that the men are Dads and the women are Moms. No matter how many times he is shown pictures of Jason, the lack of any personal memories about his Dad crushes me at times and leaves me feeling slightly hopeless.
Then, this morning...over M&M pancakes and hot chocolate, no I'm not trying to make my kids diabetic, there were bananas hidden in those pancakes... Hot chocolate mug in hand, Atticus looks at me and points to a picture on the wall and says "...that's MY dad...". I told him yes, he was right. He then looked at Abe and said "...hey Abe? That's MY dad..." It was the most profoundly gratifying thing that has happened to me in a while. Out of this tiny terror's mouth, came what I had worried never would be understood. He got it...
More than a compliment from a stranger...More than matching all the socks in the laundry...More than no one complaining about the meal they are given...More than even making it through the day in one piece... I will remember this day for a long time, as a reminder that no matter how much I worry, question, or stumble through the title of motherhood, I must be doing something right...
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