I’m kind of in love with my kids lately

Posted in Mom Stuff
by Lorain County Moms

By Erin S., Los Angeles Moms Blog

Please don’t take this post the wrong way. I am not a model mother at all times. I yell, I coax, I bribe with candy, I forget to make dinner sometimes, I scream on the soccer field, I don’t always like my kids’ friends, I get very irritated at my kids regularly, I sometimes fake my interest in their stories, and I often forget the important details of their daily lives. Just yesterday, I chose to go to my own chiropractic appointment and skip sitting through two awards assemblies: during one, my middle child would receive a 20-second recognition for her writing and then, an hour later, her sister would receive her own props for drama in a cattle call of awards for her grade. So I’m selfish, but my back feels better and hey, when mama’s happy, isn’t everyone happy?

But here’s the thing: I’m kind of in love with my kids lately.

That may sound silly… after all, haven’t I had these same kids for the last nine years of my life? Really, it’s been a decade, if you include the pregnancy of my firstborn. But if I have to be quite frank, I don’t know if I’ve always been “in love” with them.

Sure, I’ve loved them, cared for them, nurtured, guided, done the “right” things for them. For the most part, though, I’ve found motherhood (of small kids, at least) to be a combination of pet-tending, frustration and confusion. Why isn’t there an instruction manual that can be customized? Something along the lines of an old “choose your own adventure” book: If you come from a divorced family where you didn’t know your own birth father and your mother was a young single mother, go to page 22. If you come from the family of a functioning alcoholic, go to page 41. If one of your parents was an immigrant and you are a 1st generation American with a child who has special needs, go to page 16. If you suffered from postpartum depression and you have triplets, go to page 91. If you went through several rounds of fertility treatments to have a “miracle child” and you still find yourself looking at your toddler and wondering why you don’t know what to do, go to page 30.

Right, so every parent’s experience is different, by the standpoint of their family of origin, how they became a parent, and the kind of child(ren) they have. It’s not easy for any of us and I’m realizing that my experiences have been just as valid as any other mother’s — and just as unique. I am finally able to admit that I am not a “baby” person, and that I only tolerated that time in my motherhood, waiting it out like a long-lasting storm despite the obvious perks of that intoxicating baby skin smell and the warmth of a sleeping baby in my arms. And I kind of liked toddlerhood, even the rash of demands and irrational behavior, because it showed signs of independence by this previously helpless creature I’d birthed.

But right now, with my youngest child in kindergarten at the same school as her sisters — that’s right: one drop-off and one pick-up at the same times each day — I have the breathing room in my daily routine to appreciate them as individuals with their own lives. I have friends who say, “Don’t you miss them throughout the day? Don’t you just wish you could be a fly on the wall of their classroom?” And honestly, no, I don’t. That is their time away from me, to learn and grow and become who they are. There’s only so much they can do in front of me and, increasingly, that time is spent as a sort of pissing contest in which siblings compete for attention from Mom and Dad. Out of the house, they are free of that feeling and can show themselves to their peers individually (a side that I have gotten to see on field trips and during holiday programs, when my kids don’t know I’m watching … but I am).

This freedom has made our time together somehow sweeter — not always, of course, but I find myself being conscious of how fast they are growing up and mentally stopping to remember these days, taking snapshots of our daily lives right now. I don’t ever want to stop time, make them stay this age or that age forever, but I want to recognize their preciousness in this process. Last night at dinner, I actually laughed out loud as my youngest daughter recounted her day and then remembered how, when the girls were younger, I would have dreaded going out to eat with them, if we chose to do it at all. Now that my husband and I don’t have to spend the time physically taking care of the girls, we can really get into being with them and enjoying them.

A few mornings ago, I caught a special moment in my girls’ lives. My oldest, who is 9, recently started to want her own skincare regimen and I bought her some Cetaphil cleanser and moisturizer with sunscreen. As I walked toward the bathroom to tell the girls to hurry up so they wouldn’t be late to school, I heard her saying to her 8-year-old sister, “… and then, when your face is wet, you put a little of this stuff on your hands and get it foamy …” My middle daughter had her head down in the sink, splashing water carefully on her face. She squirted some of the cleanser on her palm and rubbed her palms together, saying to her older sister, “Like this?”

It was more than I could possibly handle. I just loved them in that moment, grateful to be their mother, happy to be with them on this journey. I am not promising not to yell occasionally, but I am promising to remember these good times.

This is an original post for LA Moms Blog (http://www.lamomsblog.com/). When she’s not waxing poetic and getting all goo-goo-eyed about her kids, Erin S. writes fiction.