It's wild how having kids makes you audit your own life.
You become conscientious of the job your parents did. Sure, they made mistakes - mistakes that you in those late night moments promise yourself you'll never make. If you are lucky, the best way you can describe your childhood is that your parents tried, they really did. I look back on my childhood, the decisions I didn't understand made on my behalf, and I see my parents were trying. They were trying to protect me from myself, my rashness, my impulsiveness, and the world I didn't fully understand. I see my boldness and my unwillingness to accept that I didn't know everything. I see that my feelings were fact in my mind. I see parents doing their damned best to be parents and a kid doing their damned best to be a kid. Opposite forces sometimes existing in harmony and other times clashing like titans.
I hope my kids will see that I tried. If I do anything as a mom, I fucking try. Every moment of every day, whether they are with me, at daycare, or asleep, I fucking try. I make mistakes and will continue to do so. I get frustrated (being a human is the pits sometimes). I know that toddler tantrums aren't personal. I know RB doesn't have a fit just to get at me. I know LJ fusses for reasons he needs me to decipher. I know they're not aware I am a whole person with feelings and responsibilities and too many things on my mind.
The plates that I keep spinning are not my children's problem. If I had a bad day, a fight with someone I love, got too little sleep, or am fighting some unknown daycare disease - none of these things, or anything else for that matter, are their problem. The most beautiful thing about being a child is the blissful ignorance. You have no idea there is anything outside of your wants and needs. Problems that aren't yours frankly do not exist, and if they do, they should not. When my children are with me, I will push my feelings aside and be there for then. Sure, Mommy had a shit day, but that's not their problem. Between the hours of daycare pick up and lights out, you'll find me playing with blocks, doing dinner, making bottles, washing butts, singing songs and reading books, all with a smile on my face and a song in my heart.
When they go to bed, I can drown my sorrows in wine and ice cream.
You believe in your parents regardless of what they do or who they are. Take me, for example. I have struggled with my mental health all my life. I am diagnosed obsessive compulsive. I've been in the ring with depression more times than I can count. I am a recovering people pleaser. I have spent more time swallowing my boundaries and opinions than standing firm. I am triggered by strange things, like small sounds from an electronic device or a rouge hair fallen from someone's head. I struggle with physical touch; it gives me anxiety and I get touched out very quickly. I shut down when I encounter even the slightest whiff of a temper. I stonewall when I'm upset because I often feel silence is better than the things I want to say.
My kids have seen all of these unfortunate plays live on the field. They have seen my flaws in their most raw of forms, and they still love me like these flaws don't exist. It's humbling. It's overwhelming at times. How can someone love me so purely? There are no ulterior motives. There are no conditions I must meet, no feedback based on my failings. There is only need. They need me for better or for worse. They need whatever version of me exists in that moment. They need their mom.
I try to shield my kids from the worst of me. They're smarter and more intuitive than I was prepared for, so I know in my heart of hearts there is no hiding from them. I can only try. Try to be better; try to evolve, to be stronger, more resilient, more confident. I can only try. I always say "all you can do is all you can do." I'll always do everything I can to ensure my children are safe, healthy, and happy, in that order.
Now, I know I will unwittingly award them their own special brand of trauma. All parents, for better or worse, give this gift. No matter what I do, no matter how hard I try or meticulously I plan, life will find a way to make discomfort their reality, and it will credit yours truly.
I guess the sum of it all is that I will try. I will give it my all, day in and day out, whatever I've got in the tank. If there's one thing I want these kids to say when I'm gone, it's "she fucking tried."
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