“Enjoy this time with your little ones, it passes by so fast.”
I hear this advice over and over from people who don’t have young kids. I smile and nod appreciatively. But let’s be honest, some days are not always enjoyable as a stay-at-home mom of two, ages two-and-a-half and two months. Don’t get me wrong, I love my kids more than anything. More than myself, more than writing. I know how lucky I am. How many people are blessed enough to get one miracle, let alone two? So why do I feel like such an effing ingrate some days? And why do my son’s grandparents enjoy simply playing with him more than I do?
Since giving birth to our baby girl two months ago (has it really been two months already?) we’ve had lots of help from both my mom and my parents-in-law. Which is awesome because the change from one kid to two has been a sleep-deprived, temper tantrum-filled shock to my system.
The grandparents have a great time literally chasing our toddler around and never lose patience with the terrible twos, which really have been terrible lately. But all-in-all, he’s an adorable, smart, good little boy (when he’s not refusing naps), so why can’t I have as much fun with him as they do?
I know what you may be thinking, but it’s not that the grandparents sugar him up and hand him back whenever he poops – they don’t. And I don’t think it’s because they’re not with him all the time – at least that’s not entirely it. They come often, a few days at a time, and our son has stayed at their house several times now for entire weekends of hilarity. They just have more fun with him than I do.
Maybe it’s a matter of experience. They raised three active boys while my son is my first. He’d rather be outside in any weather, while I’d prefer to be inside writing – ha! like that’s happening now. But more than that, I think it’s about patience. They have it in spades, while I feel like I have none. I want it all. Now.
I want to be a good mother first, a good person, and a good writer. I want a writing career and I’m working to make it happen. Why else would I be sitting up writing a blog post at 1 a.m. while everyone else is asleep? It’s taken me well into my thirties to figure out what I want from life and I feel behind, like I have to catch up.
The grandparents are retired. They’ve had their careers. Of course they still have goals, but they don’t feel the impatience with themselves the way I feel. They can focus on having fun with their grand kids.
And now there’s my son, awake from a two-year-old’s nightmare – something about wanting his baseball. So, here I go, to practice patience in motherhood. And then writing while nursing, a diaper change, and finally sleep. But first, patience.