Growing Pains

Posted Tuesday, April 21, 2009 12:10 PM

By Melissa of the popular online blog Melissa the Mouth 

Our household is going through some growing pains right now, and I’m having trouble coping.  Pea is almost four and is sassy and precocious and prone to testing my limits.  Coco is two, but she’s right on her big sister’s heels with the testing of my limits.  This morning, she actually told me to, “stop talking.”  And she meant it.  It brought back memories of the time when Pea was around the same age as Coco is now, and she looked me square in the eyes and simply stated, “mommy?  You’re annoying.”  Uh…  yes, I guess I can see how you’d feel that way, little Sweet Pea.  But you know what?  So are you.

I know, mature, right?  Listen, I try.  But at times, I can’t help but fall right into that trappings of early childhood reason, when it was a constant and steady stream of, “I know you are, but what am I?”  Or, “Make me.”  Now that’s annoying.

My husband actually pulled me aside the other day and asked me if I ever listened to myself when I was talking to the girls?  Excuse me?  Listen to myself?  I don’t even get to pee by myself.  So, no.  But I’m assuming you’re going to fill me in?

He did.  I wish he hadn’t.  Because I learned that I am, apparently, an almost-four year old trapped in a 37-year old woman’s body.  Not proud of it, but it’s true.  I am so far from perfect when it comes to parenting…

Pre-kids, I was so certain of how life would be.  I’d have four kids.  They’d be polite, well-behaved little geniuses, excelling at sports.  We’d have raucous and competitive “Kennedy-esque” football games on the front lawn at Thanksgiving.  We’d have brutal Scrabble games where anything went, after dinner in the evenings.  Just an enormous All-American family, rolling around in one huge and foreboding pack. 

We’ve stopped at two.  And when I mean stopped, I mean for good.  After a particularly brutal second pregnancy, I knew I could not do it all again, and so I made the decision to have my tubes tied.  At times, I am resentful of that decision; the one that I claim was made under duress.  And then I blame my husband, whose mantra has always been, “two hands, two kids.”  At other times, I’m relieved.  I can’t figure out the two that I already have.  Why add another one to the mix?

Parenting is hard work.  It’s a constant desire to do best by your children… for your children.  And then it’s a semi-constant inner dialogue of, “why did I just say that?  What’s wrong with me?  I swore I’d never say that.   That’s it.  It’s official.  I have become…  My mother.”

Interestingly enough, I’ve now decided that my mother?  Not as bad at parenting as I once thought, she was, when I was growing up.  Just a single parent, doing the best that she could with what she had.  Did she make decisions that I would never have made?  Perhaps.  Although, in all honesty, walk a mile in someone else’s shoes before you make that declaration, right?  We all do what we can do, and that should be enough.  Do I want to be better at certain things?  Sure, I’m human.  I strive to improve myself every day.  But I’m not going to kill myself over it.  Sometimes, I yell at my kids.  Sometimes, I hide in my closet when I hear someone calling, “mommy!”  Sometimes, I take the long way home from the grocery store.  Just for a few more moments of solitude.  Of peace and quiet.  And then, I arrive at home.  At my home; our home.  The home that we’ve built together, as a family.  It’s beautiful, we are so very fortunate.  And as I pull into the garage, I remind myself of this.  That this is my life, I’ve chosen it.  And it’s a good one.  A really good one.  And then, I enter our family home.  And the house is a mess.  Toys all over the place, my scarves scattered all over the great room floor, a pool of sticky juice on the kitchen tile.  And I become resentful, wonder why no one listens to me?  Why no one   follows the rules?  Why no one has any respect for me?  For what I have to do in a day to make this household run?  And as I’m desperately trying to quell the feelings of rage building up inside of me, I hear my oldest scream across the room to my youngest, “I love you, Coco!” 

I must be doing something right…

And so, this afternoon?  I will be leaving the sticky spot on the floor, the scarves out of place.  I will be heading outside with Pea and her kite, the one her father brought back from China last August.  And I’m going to watch her fly it.  And take in the beautiful scenery of the mountains that surround our home.  And remind myself that these moments?  These are the ones that matter, the ones that count.  Not how tidy our home is, or whether I’m all caught up on laundry.  It’s the memories of a sunny Monday afternoon spent with her parents on the side of the house, trying to make a kite fly on an otherwise windless day.  I see some laughter, perhaps some tears.  But mostly? I see the All-American family out for a good time.  Not quite the Kennedy clan, but it’s mine, and I’ll take it…