Hellobee

I still lovingly recall the high I felt at the end of each semester of college: I walked out of my finals thrilled to the gills, anticipating the evening’s raucous celebrations and the long break that would follow. Later, when I became a teacher, I still got to enjoy that feeling, usually after I submitted grades.  It was always such a relief to put the previous semester behind me, and focus on the future.

Tuesday morning candid

Perhaps because of my background, I tend to view life from the perspective of a lifelong student: everything becomes a project, with goals, deliverables, and a deadline. I love lists, schedules, and calendars.  I love the feeling of turning in a completed project.

Unwittingly I had pursued parenting in the same way. My son became my project, and his life a list of deliverables:  learn to sleep through, learn to self-feed, learn ten words, learn how to use a spoon/straw/sippy.  Breastfeed to a year.  Every first had to be recorded, every decision had to be fretted over, every purchase researched, every skill perfected.  Every meal became an opportunity to provide optimal nutrition.  Every holiday had to be absolutely perfect, outfits coordinated.  Play had to serve the secondary purpose of promoting a milestone.

I think this attitude is best exemplified in the insanity that was my monthly picture project.  In the beginning I found our photo sessions to be a great opportunity for bonding and play.  But around eight months, when Scribble became mobile, the monthly pictures turned into torture for both of us.  All I wanted was a picture of Scribble smiling beatifically, sitting exactly where I wanted him to be, in an outfit of my choosing, free of drool, near a prop I had acquired just for the purpose of the picture.  At the time, having spent over six months caring for an immobile child, this didn’t seem like much to ask for. But for Scribble, this was an insurmountable list of expectations; sitting still isn’t the best use of an eleven month old’s time: there is so! much! to learn! and chew! Still, because I had set up the expectation of a year’s worth of pictures, we slogged through this project until we completed it, crabbier for the experience.

The day after my child’s first birthday party I had a radical thought: the “project” of Scribble’s first year is over.  And yet, there’s no professor waiting to accept my assignment, grade it, and wave as I skip away to summer break.

No, we are still here. We didn’t turn into a pumpkin.  I still have to make three meals and two snacks every day, I still have to clean off the highchair tray (and the floor!) for every one of those meals, change every diaper, draw every bath.

Realizing this has, paradoxically, been liberating for me.  In the past few weeks I have quickly adopted a “good enough” mentality.  Monthly pictures are a thing of the past.  Breastfeeding is less about goals and more about relationship — if I want to nurse my child, I do. If he wants to nurse, he does.  Throws his sippy cup down? I guess he’s not thirsty.

I realized it is pure madness to stress about the nutritional composition of every meal. Didn’t eat his peas at lunch? I’ll torture him with kale at dinner.  He is eating four to five times a day. That is roughly 1500 meals a year. It is sheer insanity to ponder each one of them in equal measure. Some days I pull out all the stops and he gets three exotic veggies in one dinner.  But on most days, my kid eats a lot of peanut butter bananas.  This Saturday he had funnel cake, barbecue, Italian ice, and wedding cake. And this Sunday he had his first taste of Taco Bell!  I can’t even begin to imagine how much kale I’ll have to feed him this week to balance that out. Fortunately, I have 28 meals this week with which to try.

At least the foot is in focus!

Learning how to turn off my inner student and resist the urge to make my experience as a parent into a project that I can “pass” or “fail” is an ongoing process.  Ironically, putting less effort into individual parenting experiences is making me into a happier, and therefore better, parent.  A few weeks ago I was putting a lot of pressure on myself to get Scribble away from eating finger foods on his high chair tray, to eating off a plate with utensils.  With every harried attempt at “tray weaning,” I got more anxious and frustrated with mealtimes, which translated into me being a beast of a mommy: saying things I regretted, doing basic mealtime tasks with gritted teeth.

Finally I just gave up.  Scribble may not be ready to give up the high chair tray and that’s ok.  Because I don’t think he’ll fit into his high chair when he is eighteen years old anyway.  We have plenty of time. We have tomorrow, and the day after that, and the day after that.  We will get there eventually.

It is so easy to become obsessed with achieving goals which give us the outward appearance of parenting perfection.  We all want to be the parent with the child who is potty trained at eighteen months.  But for me, giving these goals too much of my attention meant ignoring the important task of finding joy in parenting, which for me is an essential part of having a healthy relationship with my child.

What I am trying to understand is that this amazing, beautiful creature is going to learn things on his own terms, and that my job is to marvel at his progress and try my best not to impede it.  I used to try to compel my child to climb by putting my iphone (his favorite contraband) on the stairs, just out of his reach.  He would stare at it, reach for it, then look back at me, hopelessly confused.  It would frustrate me, and make me wonder if there was something wrong with Scribble.  I’d lose sleep over it.

blurry and happy

Then one day we were in the yard and my child climbed two levels of a terraced garden deck to get to me.  The look of achievement on his face was breathtaking.  No amount of manufactured “teachable moments”  could compare to the instant when his intrinsic desire to learn coincided with the ideal opportunity to explore.  It was perfect, and I could never have orchestrated it myself.  All I had to do was be open to receive the blessing of it.