Being a parent is hard, and often times it feels as if there are no winners. As I write, my toddler is in her bed screaming as if she had just been told she was confined there for eternity. I sit here, wanting to scream over the emotional rollercoaster that is parenting. I have made the decision that my role, regardless of how convenient or inconvenient, is to be a consistent parent.
Many times, prior to having children, I made promises of how well behaved my children would be thanks to my consistent parenting. I also vowed to not let the addition of children “change” me and isolate me from my friends the way I had seen many new parents become. That’s all well and good until life happens and you are blessed with a beautiful, smart, funny, stubborn and strong willed child. Add that personality profile to an equally stubborn and strong willed mother who is hell bent on maintaining structure, discipline and above all else the ever important schedule. Sure I want my daughter to be well behaved. I also want time with other adults and social outlets. What happens when those things collide, is the reason for my current situation; one of frustration where my child IS screaming and I WANT to scream.
Picture this…a fun afternoon of 8-10 couples and their children, gathered around tables to share in pizza and fellowship while also allowing their children to burn off some pent up energy. Sounds FANTASTIC; fantastic that is, until you realize that yours is the only toddler in the room and every other adult has the luxury of allowing their children to independently fend for themselves. So there I sit, my child in her highchair while the other children pile their plates full of pizza, chips and brownies and are poured a tall glass of soda. I, still in “new mother” phase, am determined to make sure my child eats a pseudo-nutritious lunch prior to playing. I dutifully slice her an apple that I brought from home and fill her cup with 100% juice (also from home) yet still break her off a few bites of my pizza (mostly crust).
As the other children pick at their food and ultimately decide that dessert and/or playtime is more appealing the battle begins. I inform my sweet daughter that, although she doesn’t have to eat everything, she needs to eat a few more bites of either apple or pizza before she can play. After a few minor fits, telling me “NO” and outright refusing to eat, I am faced with a decision. I can either allow her to go ahead and play although 2 minutes ago, I had told her she MUST eat before she played. Afterall, she will eat when she is good and hungry right?! Or, I call her bluff, give her one more chance and enforce my own rule of “eat now and play, or we go home and take a nap.” (meanwhile its already past her normal nap time)
Selfishly, I wanted to opt for letting her go play. I needed the adult interaction. I needed a semi-kid-free moment. I needed her to burn off steam! I NEEDED THIS TIME. But I also need my daughter to understand my God given role as her mother. I need my daughter to understand that she can trust me, in that whatever I say I will do, I WILL DO, even if it relates to discipline and direction. I need my daughter to understand that as her parent, her well being, her behavior, and her respect for authority is paramount to any desire I have for “free time” or fellowship. She needs to know that I am consistent and have her best interest at heart even if she doesn’t understand now.
When I was younger, I asked my mother why she couldn’t be more like my friends’ moms…more like a friend to me. Her response was always, “God didn’t command me to be your friend, He commanded me to be your mother. When you are older, you will understand and THEN we can be friends.” She was right. I am older. I do understand. and we are friends.
That certainly doesn’t make it easier to be a parent. I want to rewind the last couple of hours and tell you that my child was perfectly well behaved, ate a decent lunch, played with other kids, and her dad and I enjoyed some much needed fellowship.
Instead I tell you that after offering my daughter two choices, “eat and then you can go play” or “if you don’t eat, we’ll have to go home for naptime,” she chose the latter. And so I sit, frustrated and wanting to cry over how the day played out. Frustrated and questioning whether I did the right thing or was too stubborn and strong willed. Frustrated that as parents we had to stick to our guns and follow through, even though it meant that we looked stressed, mean, and perhaps rude to our friends who have gotten together to fellowship.
Being a parent is hard and it often feels as though there are no winners. No, my daughter didn’t get to play. No, my husband and I didn’t get to fellowship. The three of us got to walk out, frustrated and in tears over becoming “those people” who have allowed having kids to “change” them. No. none of us feel like winners. But in the end, as long as I can look at God and say that I did my dead level best to be the parent He commanded me to be, and as long as my daughter can grow up with a healthy respect for authority, I would say we are all winners.
