Happy Belated Mother's Day

My thoughts on 23 years of being a mom. . .

I had lots to say about Mother’s Day but I decided to just spend the day with my own mom rather than write anything. Seemed fitting and like a much better choice.

Now I forgot what I wanted to say so forgive the stream of consciousness . . .

My mom and dad came to visit me and my family here in Denver for the weekend. It was their first trip here since we moved from San Francisco in 2021. Though I have seen them many times on the east coast, where they live.

They are in their 80s so travel is not the easiest. But they are physically able and quite spry and decided to make the trip!

The visit was a success! We went to my son’s soccer tournament, played hearts and other card games, visited a local diner and independent bookstore and just generally hung out and had fun.

In the back of my mind I was thinking about my own thoughts on being a mom — especially in light of the recent trend (as in the last ~5 years) of saying out loud everything that is wrong with motherhood. Screaming one’s regret. Shouting one’s feeling that being a mom just sucks.

Some examples here:

Call me old fashioned, but I think some things we are meant to keep to ourselves. Especially if they might harm those we love. But also, just because something is hard doesn’t mean it sucks. My view: anything not hard, at least a little bit, is probably not that rewarding. I like to do hard things. My life derives meaning from doing difficult things. It just so happens that this difficult thing is also joyous.

Yes, being a mom can be hard. But it is more amazing than hard. And the fact is, if we bitch and moan all the time about how much it sucks 1) we’ll dig a hole and feel mired in the hard parts; 2) and our kids will know. They will. And having your children feel in their bones that you think being their mom has made your life worse . . . well, it borders on child abuse. It is emotionally abusive. They have to carry that through life, that they are the reason your life didn’t work out how you had hoped. No child deserves that. It’s cruel.

Lucky for me I don’t feel this way so it isn’t hard not to say those things.

Talk to your friends about the hard days. Talk to your therapist. Talk to your spouse or partner. Bottle it up inside. Yes that is ok to do some times. We don’t have to say every fleeting thought that enters our minds or say out loud every feeling we are experiencing.

There are hard days, certainly. But keep that shit under wraps. Your kids deserve that. Be a stoic. Screw your boundaries. Lean in. Be a mom. Stop thinking about what you’re missing and focus on what you have.

From my perspective there are two important things to do when raising children:

1. They must know they are loved unconditionally. No matter what. (Which is not the same thing as giving them everything they want, never providing boundaries or punishment.)

2. Help them become who they are meant to be, find what they love and what gives them joy. (And put your own preconceived ideas about what you want them to do/be/become aside.)

That’s it. Everything else is at the margins. If you nurse your babies or not. If you sleep-train or not. If they sleep in the bed with you or not. If they use a pacifier or not. If they play sports or not. If they have chores or not. I could go on. That stuff is all a choice. And I don’t believe any of it matters much if you deliver on 1 & 2 above. (I should state that this is, of course, provided all basic needs are met — food, housing, basic levels of stability.)

It’s not a secret that upper middle class and upper class “elite” parents worry way too much about this other shit. None of it matters. Stop it. In fact, I’d argue it’s detrimental to raising healthy kids. Over-worrying about everything, making them feel and believe that every minuscule decision matters TOO much and will be life-changing is a sure fire way to raise a stunted, indecisive, emotionally fragile human being who can’t make a move without being wrecked with anxiety. Make a decision. Maybe it’s wrong. Then correct it. But don’t over-worry about every little thing. The opportunity cost is too great.

My mom delivered the two biggies above in spades.

Unconditional love — check.

Let me find and be who I want to be — check.

Despite our differences in my adolescence (normal!), I always always knew that I was loved and that she would do anything in her power to support me in my life and cheer my achievements and choices (if they weren’t self-defeating, of course) even if they didn’t align with her wishes, hopes, preconceived ideas about what would be best for me. In short, she let me figure out who I was supposed to be. So thanks mom.

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From my perspective there is just no contest. My life is inordinately better, filled with more fun and more love for having had children. I thought I’d have two. I ended up with four, through a twist of fate and the bending and curving of my life. And I always say, more kids is more love. And so I couldn’t be more grateful to have four children ranging in age from 23 down to 7. Two Gen Z’s and two Alphas. I had kids for such a long period of time I crossed a generational divide.

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It seems our culture is so at odds with itself right now. At once, we celebrate motherhood like never before. The features on celeb moms are just like us are everywhere. The books about parenting are everywhere.

The helicopter parenting and putting everything into ensuring our children never experience a moment of discomfort is at one end.

And at the other, we have moms shouting about how it sucks to be a mom and Millennials not having kids and 20-something Gen Z’s saying they’ll never have them and even pursuing total hysterectomies to prevent it because climate change or something.

Why can’t we just be normal? Why is it all the way at one end or the other? Psychotically over-manage your children or never have any and actually surgically ensure you won’t in your twenties because you’re afraid of not being able to get an abortion? Yes, that’s a thing, apparently. (Though I’m somewhat doubtful and feel this is fear-mongering on the part of NBC in regards to the overturning of Roe v Wade.)

Be a parent. Or don’t. If you don’t want to be, use birth control which is readily available for all, rather than rip out your healthy body parts.

And if you do decide to become a parent, love every moment — or try to — even the hard ones but don’t make your kids into entitled wimps by catering to their every whim. And guess what, if you don’t do that, you do actually have time to do things you like/love outside of parenting. So you won’t drive yourself insane.

If you aren’t a parent, fine. Go do brunch and the rest of it and watch endless Netflix and eat at every hip restaurant. Follow your dreams. Build your business. Do your thing. That’s your prerogative. And I hope you love it. It’s definitely not for me. Or I guess doing it without the having kids part is not for me.

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Here’s just a bit about how each of my four children have made my life infinitely better:

1. My oldest. My first. He taught me how much I loved being a mom, when I was never sure I even wanted to be one. I wasn’t expecting it. I was newly married and then it happened. And it is — without question — the best thing that has ever happened to me and that I have ever done. He taught me in a way that nothing else can, that my needs aren’t paramount. I learned we would get through sleepless nights together and if I fought it, it was painful. But if I gave in to his needs, his timeline, it all went just fine. And we’d bond at 3:00 a.m. watching CSPAN (me) and eventually passing out (both of us) after much crying (both of us). It was the year 2000, CSPAN was what I did during all-nighters or semi-all-nighters. Now I’d probably scroll Instagram or some other mindless idiocy. CSPAN was probably better . . . but I digress. Watching him become a man that is kind, and outrageously creative and smart and hard working and a great brother and son and boyfriend is the joy of my life. In every possible way, he has helped me become a better person. Cliché — maybe. But still true.

2. My second. My just turned 21 year old. He taught me that oh — you don’t parent them all the same way. They are different people. One size fits all doesn’t work. You follow their lead. He takes his time. He watches and listens. Then acts with discipline and focus and quiet resolve. On his timeline. Not mine. Not yours. His. He is quiet. And ponderous. And funny. And inscrutable. And walks his own path. On his terms. I strive to do the same but it comes less naturally for me. And so I’m grateful for the lesson from my former youngest, now my second. I hope I am and can be the mom he deserves, patient and supportive of the paths less traveled. He is fiercely independent and he loves loves loves littles and watching him be a big brother to my littlest ones is like a revelation. It’s the sweetest thing. He’s going to be an amazing dad one day.

3. My third. Many years later. He is 9. He plays soccer. He works so hard at it and he loves it. And he is so disciplined and coachable. In some ways, he is the most like me or I see myself the most in him. Which is a cool thing but it isn’t the point of parenting. He is this gift I never imagined or thought possible. I thought I was done having children with #2 above. And then life happened, and I got divorced and then met someone — Daniel — who wanted children. And so I agreed even though I never dreamed of having more. I should be an empty nester right now but I’m not and I’m so grateful for that. My third is wise, and curious, and funny, and he loves to play cards before bed, and he loves learning languages and is always polite and he seems quite fearless to me but maybe that is what happens when you are sure your parents won’t let you ever fall too far. When you know that you are loved.

4. My fourth. My last. My only daughter. She is wild and fiery and stubborn and doesn’t care at all what people think of her. She doesn’t care if she is zagging when others are zigging and I don’t know how you get this way at seven. I certainly wasn’t. She rides her bike around the neighborhood alone like a demon and a neighbor told me the other day: there needs to be a movie about this girl. She goes her own way and that can be very annoying and undirected at 7-years-old but I’m seeking to cultivate it because the world needs more of that. Which means letting her take risks and fall down and it means arguing and her doing stupid stuff sometimes but being fearless and full of vim. I wanted a girl. It sounds selfish and maybe it is a little bit. Boys love their moms but they identify with their dads. They just do. It’s very gendered. This little one is nothing like me in so many ways but she identifies with me and looks at me and says I want to grow up and be like my mom. Selfish of me? Yeah, maybe. But it’s an honest feeling. I hope I am worthy of her. I expect great challenge during her teenaged years. I’m preparing myself.

That’s it. I love being a mom. I love being a mom to four kids. I love that they are all so different and I get to be a part of that. I really think the Gen Z’s and Millennials who say they don’t want kids don’t know what they are missing. It’s like nothing else on earth.