It’s amusing to delve into the recesses of my mind, uncovering the troves of information accumulated over the years. Among these memories lies a special collection, akin to a weathered box, preserving my thoughts, dreams, and aspirations regarding motherhood. These reflections date back to my earliest musings, cradling bald, bedraggled baby dolls (each affectionately named Jeremy) and extend through the decades to moments of anticipation while carrying my own child (likely to share the bald trait but certainly not named Jeremy).
Exploring this repository of whimsy, naivety, and apprehension reveals a myriad of treasures. However, not once, even in the dusty corners or scribbled on the back of an inconspicuous receipt, do I encounter the following thought:
I ponder if there will come a time when I do not cherish my child.
Such a notion may seem sacrilegious. Who would entertain such a thought? The idea never crossed my mind as a new parent. It wasn’t until I cradled a newborn in my arms that the realization of trimming her nails until she could manage them herself dawned on me. Here I was, embracing motherhood. Soon after, the insidious grasp of sleep deprivation enveloped me, unraveling unpleasant truths and half-truths during the long nights filled with moments of improvisation and the cries of my fragile infant.
This reality was not what I had envisioned.
Where was the idyllic scene of cradling my newborn, rosy and delicate, as she cooed softly, gazing up at her well-rested and effortlessly beautiful mother, the epitome of wisdom and love? The reality of a wailing, demanding infant, rebuffing my awkward attempts at assistance and recoiling as if repulsed by my disheveled appearance, was far from my expectations. Wrestling, soothing, and pleading with my baby to just stop, my primal instincts would occasionally interject with doubts and frustrations, whispering, “Is this intentional? This is unbearable! Does she even care for me? Perhaps the feeling is mutual!”
Each time this sentiment surfaced, whether voiced internally or not, it chipped away at me. Those challenging moments, scattered throughout the years, when the little ones refused to sleep, spat out the last remnants of infant Tylenol, or threw tantrums at family gatherings, stirred a darkness within me, revealing a hint of brutal honesty.
No, my children were not acting out of malice. They did love me unequivocally. Yet, acknowledging this did not negate the challenges of navigating those turbulent waters or being the captain of that tumultuous voyage. While I harbored profound love for my children from their inception, I did not always relish being in their company, with all their exuberant and sometimes exasperating antics.
As I reflect on these less-than-ideal memories, strewn haphazardly within a disorderly box adorned with scrawls of black marker and dysfunctional duct tape, I recognize that the unfiltered truth of these parenting episodes only amplifies the beauty of loving a young soul.
Approaching a holiday saturated with saccharine displays of love and endearment, take a moment to introspect on your emotions amidst the season you find yourself in. Embracing the full spectrum of sentiments and acknowledging the ebbs and flows will deepen your serenity and gratitude. In the words of the perpetually compassionate Fred Rogers, “Love isn’t a state of perfect caring. It is an active noun like struggle. To love someone is to strive to accept that person exactly the way he or she is, right here and now.”
Whether your child is mere seconds old or four years (or even forty, as the tales go), there will be occasions when their behavior tests your affection, making it challenging to love them. Do not let these moments capsize your vessel, Captain. Steady the course, weather the storm, and love them unconditionally. Once the tempest subsides (or you navigate past the iceberg), those endearing little passengers will charm you once more.