Welcome to Parenthood

Today, I saw you.

You’re quiet when the teacher of today’s story time is talking, though you smile at the other parents when their child does something funny. You chase your child down, patiently pulling her squirming form into your lap to sit through the whole program. Your organized bag is packed with everything from extra wipes to a change of clothes to the just-in-case snack. You likely use an adorably designed grocery cart cover that you wash between trips to the store with your little one.  You’ve learned the words to each song at story time and sing them, teaching and coaxing the small child in your lap.  You watch for a few minutes with other parents when the kids play, hesitant in which question you will casually ask first about their baby or toddler, hoping for common ground and maybe even a playdate later this month. You get nervous when your little one squawks in the middle of the story, and you hide her under one of those contraptions when it’s time to nurse. You probably have a sensory bin at home and holiday-centered crafts lined-up, and a list of special traditions planned to show your child just how much you care about creating their memories. You do things by the approved timeline and will have a list of questions at the next pediatrician check-up.

I almost didn’t notice you at all. Because now I have multiple kids and a schedule that fills our days with gymnastics and story times and preschool pick-up, mapped out around teaching and dinners with our group of family and friends that have become our world.  But something in the patient, eager way you showed your daughter how to do the puzzles today reminded me.

I was you, one time. It seems so long ago, even though I can count on my fingers how many years have passed. Before there was more than one child. Before I knew the teachers and other parents at our daughters’ school. Before I figured out a good routine of activities that made our days roll by. Before I knew which bathrooms were ideal during potty-training, which toys to pack for a roadtrip, which playgrounds made for easy supervising while talking ‘adult’ with friends. It was before I didn’t care where I nursed, before I stopped arranging a Pintrest craft and project list, before I realized that a simple bowl of pretzels and a gesture to the fridge for drinks was perfectly fine for real friends at a playdate. Before my kids drove me nuts, before I had yelled at them, before packed lunches and cheerio-infested carseats and a peanut butter sandwich made with one hand while swaying a reflux-aggravated newborn in the other. It was before immense loads of dishes and laundry, before we rolled in a minivan. It was before we lost a son when I was 5 months pregnant, before we framed his tiny footprints to hang on our Christmas tree, before we knew we’d have to teach our girls how to love and remember their brother. I was you, a long time ago, with one little one in my lap, her arms chubby and legs still wobbly, so much we both had to learn. It was before I was brave enough to introduce myself to another mom who seemed like she might be fun, before I had settled into this life and village that is Motherhood… I was you. We’re all a little different, but we’ve all been you in some way.

And as soon as that feels like it was so long ago, I’m reminded that I’m still a rookie with each new stage of parenthood. When I was taking pictures at the first Halloween parade or when I see parents of middle schoolers, parents who look at me and my girls with knowing eyes that say, “Mine used to be that little.” When I think of our oldest going to kindergarten all day. When parents talk of doing homework; setting curfews; looking at colleges. Those moments, I still feel that sense of newness, of being slightly unsure yet enthusiastic, of simply wanting to be a good parent.

One day, you’ll be different too. After all, we all keep changing, stepping out of old worn shells of ourselves and feeling a new stage of life fresh on raw, unmarked skin. Until it too becomes worn, weathered, wiser for a few more years, reminding us that we never quite have it figured out. 

But today, here you stand at this first chapter of parenthood.

I saw you today, and I wanted to hug you and say welcome, friend. Welcome aboard.