I had a revelation about (my) experience in parenting that I wanted to share with you; or I thought I did, anyway. Whenever I attempt to share deep, profound thoughts on parenting, that’s when parenting ends up smacking me in the face….
LITERALLY.
So I was sitting in the local dance studio the other day, waiting for #5’s class to finish. Into the studio came a mom with her school-aged daughter, along with a toddler and a baby in a stroller. They were waiting for the next class to begin, & as I watched the mom juggling the three kids (quite well, I might add), my thoughts were:
I feel ya’, sister.
Been there, done that!
It seems like only yesterday when I was in similar (well worn) shoes- escorting one child to an event or activity with a horde of siblings in tow. We’re talking the double stroller, the diaper bag, the snacks to keep them fed, & the toys to keep them distracted- temporarily, anyway.
Raising small kids required so much physical work. And not just because I have six kids- if you’re a parent, you know the kind of work I mean.
I’m talking about the crushing sleep deprivation of infancy. The hours of pacing with a crying baby in the dead of night. The dashing after toddlers… all day, every day. The catastrophic household messes, & accidents, & general “breakage” that living with small children results in.
And repeat. And repeat..
Those years were physically taxing, & when I look back on them, I’m fairly amazed that I was able to do what I did.
And in pondering my amazement, I came to the conclusion that, although parenting is not be any stretch EASY, it’s gotten easier.
This reality struck me as I watched the mother juggling her three little ones. That WAS me only a short time ago, yet there I was, sitting alone, with a few spare minutes to just… sit. That didn’t happen a few years ago. That couldn’t happen a few years ago.
Yesterday I had this giddy awareness; I took #2 in for an appointment for her CTS text (computerized attention-span test). Accompanying me was #6, & since #4 was home sick, she too came along.
We sat in the waiting room, and by “sat”, I actually mean sat. My kids are finally old enough to sit for periods of time, which is a convenient shift. There was a toddler there with his parents, & as his dad chased him repeatedly around the room, I thought:
a- I feel ya’, guy.
b- THANK GOD I’m past that stage.
So #2 went into the back to take her test, and her two siblings & I sat waiting for her. #4 was occupied with her fidget spinner (are fidget spinners a thing by you? How did they suddenly become a thing??).
#6 was sitting quite nicely with his toy airplane. He started to get… fidgety, for lack of a better word, & began getting up out of his chair to walk around. Fair enough- he’d been sitting for awhile.
I told him to sit down. As I leaned forward to speak to him, he suddenly jumped UP….
… and right UP there was…
My nose.
#6’s big, fat boy head hit my nose so hard that for a second, I was afraid to touch my nose, in the fear that it would no longer be where it should be on my face, but rather jammed up into my brain where it now felt like it was located. I cupped my hand on it & whispered to #4, “Is it bleeding??”
#4 said no.
Well, #4 is a LIAR.
Blood began streaming into my hand. And since I’m not the type to make a scene (only in my writing, that is), I jumped up & told the kids,
“Cmm vi me to th bthrm.”
(“Come with me to the bathroom”, but it’s hard to enunciate when you’re trying to pinch off your nose to keep the blood in your face & not on the waiting room floor.)
Of Note: The bathroom was a single unit, located directly off the waiting room. In addition to being directly off the waiting room, it also was not soundproof. Both of these characteristics are key here.)
I began sopping the blood over the sink with wet paper towels. And there was a lot. And while I was trying to stop bleeding but still bleeding, #6 & #4 were dancing frantically around the tiny bathroom, obviously perturbed that their precious mother was losing her life’s blood directly in front of them.
…well…
for about 30 seconds, anyway.
Then they realized that if you walked under the electronic hand drier affixed to the wall, it magically turned ON. No matter how many times you walked under it.
So as I kept mopping blood & hissing at them, #4 & #6 kept walking under the drier, blasting noisy electric hot air every 10 seconds.
And while holding wet paper towels to my nose & swiping them away from the hand drier, #6 wisely tried to avoid my hand of wrath by attempting escape… because the door’s lock was broken.
(Of course it was.)
Yes, the bleeding finally stopped. And no, my nose thankfully wasn’t broken.
But my pride was… because just when you think, “I’ve GOT this parenting thing! It’s getting SO much easier!”, life (or your kid) just pops you right in the face & reminds you that parenting is an ongoing series of victories & fails, often requiring blood, sweat & tears.
(Sometimes more blood than sweat & tears…)
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