Parenting
Before I became a parent, I was often told that the love I would feel for my children would be unparalleled. “Cradling your baby is the most extraordinary feeling imaginable!” various parents, family members, friends, and even strangers in grocery store lines assured me, especially when they noticed my prominent baby bump.
So, you can imagine my shock when I first held my daughter and felt overwhelmed by dread instead of love. Would I drop her? Am I equipped to raise her correctly? Did we even pick the right name? What was I thinking, believing I could nurture a human being?
Of course, my anxiety only intensified my fears. Did feeling scared mean I was a terrible mother? Where was the flood of love everyone had promised? I must be broken.
It took two weeks for that promised love to finally overshadow my fears. One night, as she screamed at 2 a.m., and after I had exhausted every possible method to soothe her, I found myself in tears. “Please,” I pleaded, “I’m trying my best, just stop crying.” And miraculously, she did. The absurdity of the moment made me laugh. I looked at that tiny, wailing baby who bore a resemblance to both her dad and Mikhail Gorbachev, and I realized that she was just as clueless as I was. Suddenly, my fear began to dissipate.
That memory surfaced again when a well-meaning acquaintance insisted that this time with my baby and three-year-old was a “golden stage.” “You’ll long for this phase when it’s gone,” she said. “It was the happiest time of my life.”
My days are filled with meaning, challenges, and yes, a lot of mess. But the happiest time? I’m not so convinced. Just admitting that makes me feel like I’m failing. Shouldn’t I find joy in scrubbing poop out of my three-year-old’s carpet?
The abundance of parenting books and online resources suggest that if you’re facing a challenge, there’s a solution. If something’s wrong or frustrating, like when your child decides to bite your arm, you can fix it with determination, patience, and a few conveniently purchasable products. The underlying message is clear: if you aren’t experiencing joy, it’s your fault—there’s something wrong with you.
I wish we could banish the term “happy” from parenting discussions. As if achieving unending bliss is the ultimate goal of raising children. Reality check: life is chaotic, often difficult, and sometimes it doesn’t improve. Our self-help culture leads us to believe all issues can be resolved, but when your child refuses to stop peeing on the floor, despite all the potty-training advice, well, good luck with that.
No parent who has ever found themselves on the floor, sobbing as their child cries, is broken. No mother who has looked at her child in sheer panic needs fixing. And no mom who has wished she could escape the constant sticky floors and unpleasant odors is doing it wrong. Instead of books aimed at making us “better” parents, I wish we had resources that taught us to embrace our reality, with all its grace, frustrations, anxieties, and fears.
Because frankly, I’m done with the pursuit of happiness.