I once considered myself a laid-back mother. I stopped breastfeeding my son, Max, after just three weeks, despite our pediatrician outlining the numerous benefits of breast milk for an infant’s immune system, growth, and overall development. I unintentionally “Ferberized” him at six weeks after forgetting to turn on the baby monitor, leaving him to cry while I was oblivious in another room. One evening, when Max was five months old, he rolled off the changing table while I was watching. After a quick visual and auditory check, I deemed him fine. He even laughed that night—perhaps at my momentary panic?
My daughter, Lily, rarely enjoyed a proper afternoon nap. I often dragged her along with me to pick up Max from various activities or for strolls that provided me with some fresh air and a chance to chat with friends. I vividly remember bringing Lily to Max’s nursery school play, where she sat in a wet diaper and without socks in the dead of winter. I had no spare diaper or extra socks, yet she smiled the entire time, nestled on my lap in the makeshift theater.
It wasn’t that I was completely carefree; rather, my worries were centered on my mother, who was in the final stages of her long battle with cancer during Max’s infancy. As I breezed through Max’s pediatric appointments, signing immunization documents without a second glance, I meticulously took notes during my mother’s doctor visits, desperately seeking any shred of information that could lead to a treatment option. Unfortunately, I couldn’t save her; she passed away when Max was just nine months old.
In those early parenting days, managing my children felt surprisingly straightforward. Perhaps my focus on my mother played a significant role in that perception. I admired other mothers who fretted over feeding schedules, bedtime rituals, and developmental classes. I had other priorities—grieving my mother, keeping her memory alive, cooking meals for my widowed father, hosting family gatherings, and nurturing friendships that became even more vital after my loss. Balancing my marriage, career, and personal life added to the complexity.
Fast forward 15 years, and I no longer view myself as that calm mother. My worries have shifted from baby milestones to the challenges of raising big kids. The familiar saying, “little kids, little problems; big kids, big problems,” resonates deeply with me, and I often find myself questioning the decisions I’ve made regarding Max and Lily’s education and social development. Am I guiding them well? Am I present enough, or perhaps too involved? My daily conversations with friends and family often revolve around my desire to not screw up my kids. That seems like a simple aspiration, right?
Reflecting on how far my children have come since those early days brings me some comfort. Max, who received only three weeks of breast milk, has no allergies and has been a champion sleeper since that fateful night without the baby monitor. The incident on the changing table hasn’t hindered his passion for sports or his inquisitive nature.
Lily, bursting with energy, has taken few naps in her life, except for a couple of long car rides. Now, she accompanies me on walks and enjoys lunch dates with both friends and family. She has developed into delightful company during outings, even if she no longer perches on my lap during plays.
Perhaps my earlier lack of worry has served us well, or maybe my children are simply evolving into their own remarkable selves. Regardless, my journey as a mom has taught me that remaining calm amid chaos is more challenging than it seems. I genuinely strive to nurture my children without causing any harm.
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In summary, my experiences as a mother have evolved significantly from my early days. Losing my mom shifted my focus, but it also allowed me to embrace a more relaxed approach to parenting, which seems to have positive effects on my children.
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