While attending a birthday party for a one-year-old, I found myself surrounded by old college friends. One of them casually asked, “How are things going?”
“It’s really tough,” I admitted, my voice trembling and tears threatening to spill over, “because I just can’t seem to make my baby happy.”
He looked at me with a raised eyebrow. “It’s not your job to make him happy,” he replied.
Internally, I rolled my eyes at my childfree friend. What could he possibly understand? He had no kids and didn’t want any.
How could I not feel responsible for my four-month-old’s well-being? After all, I had spent years yearning to be a mother, enduring countless fertility treatments. Perhaps I was also influenced by the titles of popular parenting books that seemed to suggest my sole purpose was to foster happiness: The Happiest Baby on the Block, Healthy Sleep Habits, Happy Child, or Brain Rules for Baby: How to Raise a Smart and Happy Child from Zero to Five.
Or maybe it was just the pervasive American obsession with happiness that had seeped into my very being. According to Jennifer Senior’s 2014 book All Joy and No Fun: The Paradox of Modern Parenting, today’s parents often grapple with their roles in their children’s lives. We’ve delegated many traditional parenting responsibilities—schools teach academics, doctors provide healthcare, and farms grow our food. So what does that leave for modern parents?
As a first-time mom to a very fussy baby, I was still trying to define what motherhood meant to me, and the only task I thought I could grasp was making my son happy.
Colicky, temperamental, and spirited—these were the words I might have used to describe my little one. Experts say colic typically lasts only the first three months, but my son clearly missed that memo. He continued to cry daily for half an hour until he was 15 months old, seemingly for no reason at all.
He detested being strapped into his car seat, yet hated being taken out of it. He loathed having his face washed and his diaper changed; he craved to be held, but grew fussy in my arms. Sure, he smiled and played occasionally, but overall, he didn’t seem especially joyful. Truth be told, neither was I.
When he turned eight months, I started to entertain the idea that maybe my childfree friend had a point. My son had been born with blocked tear ducts, and to remedy the issue, a doctor had to perform a procedure that involved using stainless steel rods to clear the ducts, while a team of nurses held him down. It wasn’t particularly painful, I was told, but it was undoubtedly frightening for him. I could tell from his screams and the way he clung to me afterward.
“How did you make sure he wasn’t traumatized for life?” my sister asked when I shared the story with her.
I felt awful. I had failed to shield him from that experience; how could I expect to make him happy in day-to-day life? I voiced my guilt in a mothers’ support group I attended.
“A parent’s role isn’t to shield their child from negative experiences,” the therapist explained. “It’s to help guide them through those challenges so they can learn to cope.”
In that moment, clarity washed over me—I realized the true purpose of my journey into motherhood. My goal shouldn’t simply be to stop my son’s tears and ensure his happiness, as so many parenting guides imply. Instead, my mission became about fostering resilience in him—a concept gaining traction in both psychological and parenting discussions.
By focusing on his adaptability, my perspective on parenting shifted dramatically, as did my mental well-being. Teaching him resilience helped me navigate his transition to toddlerhood, showing him that life isn’t always about getting what you want. Sometimes, we have to face things we dislike, like changing diapers, car rides, or doctor visits.
This newfound focus also prompted me to reassess my own needs. While my son might have preferred me as his constant playmate, I had to show him that Mommy required time to eat dinner in peace. I even found the courage to enroll him in part-time daycare—supporting him through the associated separation anxiety—as a way to relieve the pressures of being a stay-at-home mom. With just two days a week dedicated to writing articles and exploring my passion for environmental communications, I felt rejuvenated and far more patient with my son.
Slowly, I started to feel like a complete individual again—not just a mom—and I realized I was a pretty decent parent, teaching my child the significant life lesson of resilience. I found happiness, even when my son wasn’t always “The Happiest Toddler on the Block” (yes, another parenting book title).
One morning, while driving home from the grocery store when my son was two, he asked, “Mommy, Daddy was a boy and now he’s a man?”
“Yes, honey,” I answered.
“And I’m a boy now, and then I’ll be a man?”
“Yes, that’s right.”
“Ahhh, I don’t want to be a man,” he whined. “I want to be a boy forever!”
“Why do you want to stay a little boy forever?” I inquired.
“Because I love it,” he replied.
In that moment, I realized that despite my worries, my cranky little boy was happy after all. Most importantly, I was finally happy too.
Conclusion
In summary, my journey through motherhood taught me that striving for my child’s happiness was not my sole purpose. By letting go of that notion and focusing on fostering resilience, I found my own happiness and a renewed sense of self.
Keyphrase: Finding Happiness in Parenting
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