The Ride of Our Lives

For years after having our first babies, my friends and I uttered, “I never knew that was going to happen” many times over. From birthing books to family elders’ recollections, the pieces of advice and information bits handed out never seemed to cover what occurred beyond the outside edges of the sit-com version of new parenting. Because of this, I began to look forward to telling the absolute, one hundred percent, no-holds-barred truth if I were approached by a mother-to-be asking what it was really like to become a new parent. From what our bodies look and feel like after the miracle of birth to how our moods and demeanors are forever changed…I was ready to spill the beans. I was primed to tell her that things she wouldn’t dream of touching would soon become things she would instinctively reach out to catch bare-handed to save the carpet. I was prepared to explain how, just after wiping her baby’s face with her shirt, she would inevitably run into her handsome, successful and single ex-boyfriend. I was equipped to chat about the noises and odors that come from the nether regions of small children, and how they become common place and mundane quicker than one would think. I looked forward to revealing that “me time” becomes a short break to buy groceries alone, during which all she will think about is her husband and children anyway. And how the term “mommy-brain” would deftly weave it’s way into her daily conversation. I wanted to talk about all the mistakes and mishaps that occur—ones that never seem to make it into any book or advice section. I would share the time I saved up for four months to buy a designer purse, and then, after unpacking it, watched my youngest drop it into a toilet, forever re-naming it my Louis “Pee-ton”. And how my friend’s daughter and dog sat together, eating an entire cup of puppy food before she realized what it meant when a young child is awake, yet quiet. I hoped to tell stories about words I previously promised would never come out of my mouth, like “because I said so”, “go ask your father”, and “I don’t need a weekend getaway—I just need some respect around here.” As time passed, I thought more and more about what I would tell that mother-to-be, and thoughts of what I would discuss shifted from toddlerhood to the speed at which our children grow…how amazing it is to watch them leave for school only days after singing them a lullaby, rocking them in our arms and staring at them for hours while they sleep. I began to think about telling that mother-to-be more about the importance of holding on to those special moments, acknowledging each milestone and passage into the next stage of life—our children’s and our own. I figured I would tell her that she’ll need to give herself some room, some forgiveness—for she’ll surely disappoint herself, and sometimes others. Maybe I would tell her to laugh at her mistakes and celebrate her small victories, knowing that I would really be speaking to myself. I’ve been a parent for over eight years now, and I think I have finally figured out what to say, should that young mother-to-be appear, asking for the truth. And it is this: that there is no single truth. That the more I know, the more I realize I don’t know. That none of us have any idea what we’re doing here—we are all learning as we go. That being a mother for a few years doesn’t mean I know what it’s like to be a mother for a few more. I would tell her only that she’s in for the ride of her life, and not to close her eyes—even for a second—because it’s so fast and so fun and so full of things we never expected to see. But, most importantly, that it’s her ride to experience. And no matter how many stories she hears about purses and dog food and shopping trips, she will find her own wisdom to ponder, have her own victories to celebrate and make her own mistakes to learn from. I now know the only advice I can truly give to her is to just try and enjoy the ride. Published in The Broomfield Enterprise, 10/28/07