Being a parent

“What is it like to be a parent?” 

A friend had asked me this question several months ago. I no longer remember what I told her, only that it took a while for me to give an answer. She is in her late twenties, single, probably under pressure to get married and have kids of her own. I wanted to say only good things so that she would not feel discouraged about becoming one. At the same time, I did not want to lie.

The long Holy Week break gave me a chance to think about her question again. It helped that we had chosen to stay home instead of joining the crowds at the airport or the roads leading to popular vacation spots. Except for chirping birds and noisy stray cats, we had the subdivision to ourselves.

Being a parent, like any experience involving other people in your life, is a chance to learn about them and yourself. Each day as a parent has its gifts, with obvious ones like smiles, and laughter, and milestones like the first tooth, first step, Recognition Day, and Graduation Day. There are less obvious gifts when it’s a day that you’re told that your child needs a cranial ultrasound or that you need to see the teacher because your teenager has not been submitting homework and seatwork. You will probably lie awake at night worrying about the diagnosis in the first case. You will probably yell at the teenager and wonder how a geek like you could have a kid like that. Hopefully, not too long after, you will realize that those things needed to happen to make you learn about trust in God, that your children are separate from you even if they have your genes, and that those events led you to meet very interesting people.

In conversations with other parents, we invariably end up talking about our desire to give our children the best life possible. What this is depends on our own childhoods and life experiences, including our wounds and hurts. In my case, it was the thought that maybe I wasn’t a very good mom when I chose to leave my eldest child with my parents so I could finish law school. It didn’t help that for years, I listened to aghast-looking moms asking me how I could have possibly left such a small baby (obviously, with tears, and clenched teeth to stop myself from crying).

This is probably why I have chosen to breastfeed my second child for as long as I can (apart from being repeatedly told that breast milk is best for baby). On our first visit to the pediatrician with my second child, I had asked her what supplements I should take so I could breastfeed successfully. The pediatrician looked at me incredulously and said, “It’s not about the supplements, dear. It’s about commitment.” I find myself waking up several times at night to feed the baby, pumping milk so I could go out, and saying no to opportunities to travel when my milk stash is not sufficient.  On some days, I laugh and wonder if my desire to prove my commitment makes me fall under the category of “crazy mom” parodied in the Mompetition cartoons (which you can watch in YouTube if you want to be entertained).

If I get asked the same question again, I would probably still not know what to say. My answer changes depending on whether I’m having a calm day or a rough day. Maybe I need to see my kids all grown-up before I have a more definitive answer. For now, I will borrow from more experienced friends: being a parent is like growing a forest, a huge a responsibility that has immense rewards.

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