When my children were younger and I was knee deep in laundry (all those baby clothes!), I envied the mothers of older children whose days and nights weren’t filled with Cheerios and puzzles and Barney (oh yes, this was a few years back). When these mothers of older children said, “Oh, it gets harder, just you wait and see,” I thought they were full of it, or had had really easy babies, or were just lame. Harder? How can it possibly be harder than pretending to have endless patience while changing eight diapers every couple of hours in a sleep-deprived stupor. No way.
Well, way. Yep, sorry to say, those mothers were right. Oh, sure, I get a little more sleep now – lots more, actually. But I know that it’s a temporary luxury, which will come to a screeching halt in a few years when my boys hit high school. And, it’s also true that I don’t have to feed anyone from a spoon or help anyone in the bathroom anymore. There are also several hours in a day when my kids are at school, when, theoretically, I should have time to myself. But because I must be an “involved” parent, instead of relaxing at home with a great book, you will usually find me at a PTO meeting, or in computer class, or even running the class Valentine’s Day party, which is definitely not my forte.
But what those mothers knew, that I was simply in denial about, was this: when your kids get bigger, so do their problems. When my boys were three, “bully” was just some word in a book, an idea to talk about, not some actual kid on the playground who I want to string up by his toes and interrogate. When my boys were three, the pre-puberty hormones hadn’t kicked in, which – as far as I can tell – is the boy equivalent of that time of the month, except it lasts for about a year. Big fun, let me tell you. And when my boys were three, I didn’t worry at all whether we were making the right choices for his future. I mean, at three, they just want you to be with them. Isn’t that great?
I mean, I really miss those toddler years, even the baby laundry.
-Kirsetin
