Motherhood
A few weeks ago, my daughter had a friend over for dinner, and we were talking about what they wanted to be when they grew up. My daughter’s friend asked me what I had wanted to be when I was little. I paused and said, “I don’t know, I guess I always wanted to be a mother.” My daughter turned to me and deadpanned, “How’s that working out for ya?”
You see, we’ve had our challenges lately. About two years ago, my husband and I woke up to the fact that Nicole was battling some demons. Under the best of circumstances, parents are not rational when it comes to their kids. Throw in a demon or two, and we go off the deep end and hyperventilate. Irrational parents and teenagers don’t mix well.
Nicole feels that I am disappointed in her. Disappointment is not one of the emotions I am feeling. I am annoyed when I see the state of her room. I am frustrated when she doesn’t get to bed at a decent time or spends time texting rather than doing her homework. I am worried when I don’t know where she is. I am sad when I see evidence of the demons. I am uncertain when I set limits. I feel alone when I enforce those limits. I am proud of her for being as responsible and as resilient as she is, despite the demons. And I love her. Up to the moon — and back. But “disappointment” simply doesn’t make the list.
Nicole is frequently frustrated with me. And by frequently, I mean all the time. I’ve been known to yell at refs, glare at coaches, and talk sternly to teachers. Does she think I’m going to stay out of the fray with demons? I’m going to do what I can to make sure they don’t win. This has led to me significantly changing my parenting style. (At least it feels significant to me.) I’ve always had high expectations, and I have taken a “get over it” approach to skinned knees and hurt feelings. My expectations remain high, but I am trying to be less judgmental. (How, exactly, does one do this?) I’ve come to realize that there are times when you can’t just get over it and that this is a process that needs my support. On the other hand, I feel it is my responsibility to make sure this bus is moving forward and in the right direction. At least until she is 18. Or maybe 40. So I provide encouragement (okay, I nag) and enforce those limits that I am so uncertain about. Am I helping, just being annoying, or making things worse? I bet it is easier for a gymnast to strike the right balance on a balance beam. At least that line is clear cut and doesn’t move.
I never answered Nicole’s question that night. Here’s the answer. Being a mother is working out great for me. It is still what I want to be. I would have a hard time putting into words why that is true. Maybe because there are too many words. Or the words would sound trite. Or maybe it simply comes down to that to-the-moon-and-back thing.
