A is for: (a little) arrogant

I didn’t know much about babies before the jalapeno was born in 2010, but I thought I knew—in general terms—how I’d approach being a parent. All I had to do was follow the example of my own parents.

Growing up, I always felt that my sister and I were at the center of our parents’ lives. They worked hard at their jobs during the day, but on evenings and weekends they were supremely attentive to our needs, our activities, etc. Not to say we got everything we wanted—they were plenty firm about setting limits—but they always seemed to be focused on us. I wouldn’t say they were at the level of helicopter parents, but they were definitely very involved. I suppose I must have known that they theoretically had lives of their own, but that fact barely registered. My mom’s hobbies included things like going to church meetings and sewing clothes for my sister and me. My parents occasionally got a babysitter and went to the theater or the SPCO, but it was rare. All in all, everyone seemed pretty happy with this arrangement.

B is for: (lack of) balance

Fast forward to after the jalapeno was born. I went back to work when he was three months old. My general routine became: work (at a job I liked, fortunately), spend time with the jalapeno, dinner, tend to whatever chores needed to be done, collapse into bed at 9:00, dreading how often the jalapeno might wake during the night. Over time, his sleep improved somewhat (hello, sleep training) and I started working in occasional trips to the gym. I went online and read message boards where moms talked about their babies. Sometimes I found the energy to catch up with a friend or two via email. Once in a while, we made plans to get together with friends (who also had small children) on the weekends. But I rarely left the house other than to go to work or the gym.

In retrospect, this seems ridiculous. How could this setup possibly be a good idea? But I’m by nature an overachiever. I was trying to do everything “right” for my kid, but in doing so I was failing myself.

C is for: changes

Fast forward again to the present day. The jalapeno is 4 years old and the pepperoncino is 15 months. I’m still working full time (and fortunately still like my job). Life is chaotic, to say the least. In theory, I have less free time than ever, but I’m doing things differently now. Having gone through all the infant and toddler stuff once before, I know that many of the hard things are only temporary. I stay away from online discussions where moms compare and compete about what their children are doing and everyone knows what’s best for all babies everywhere. I’m also making time to do things that have nothing to do with my job or my children.

Get a last-minute chance to go to a Twins game on a beautiful day? Do it. Hear about a bizarre online game run by some guy who goes by a moniker that has to do with scary dairy products? Do it. Have a friend who wants to check out a new restaurant (sans kids)? Do it.

There are by no means enough hours in the day to do everything I’d like—for my job, for my kids, or for myself. But now that I’m no longer trying to be something that was making me miserable, I’m a lot better off, and I daresay my kids are better off as well.

Image credit: (cc) Michael Verhoef