Life isn’t easy. And the epitome of that, perhaps, might be parenting.
(Okay, maybe the epitome is death, but let’s take a week away from that topic, shall we?)
In regards to parenting being difficult: stop the judgmental comments already. I know what you’re thinking. People who dare say anything negative about parenting don’t deserve to be parents.
I beg to differ. Parenting is a gift. It is wonderful. It is one of the very best things that has happened (so far) in my life. For sure.
How then, do I dare declare that parenting is filled with hard (very, extremely hard) work?
Because it is. Most of the things in life that are worth anything of substance require effort and hard work. This most definitely includes parenting.
Small caveat here. Being a parent isn’t for everyone. It shouldn’t be. If you aren’t called to be a parent – don’t feel the need, don’t feel the pull - that’s okay. It’s more than okay. Step away from the pack ’n play.
I wasn’t sure about the whole parenthood thing myself. Neither was my husband. But something nudged us to dip our toes in the water and soon thereafter our daughter was born.
We learned that parenthood was full of love, miracles, first smiles, midnight feedings, countless diaper changes and tireless tasks.
If one word existed that combined love, work and lack of sleep it might describe the early years of parenting.
As bleak as I might make it, it couldn’t have been all that bad because my husband and I went on to repeat the process - three more times, for a total of four: one girl and three boys.
With four, in the tempest years, I can tell you life was busy. I didn’t get to relax at will. I didn’t get to relax much at all.
But it was all good. I was raising little people, whom I loved more than life itself. I changed crib sheets in the dark in the middle of the night because they were wet. I cut grapes in half. I sucked out the snot from their noses. I worried when they didn’t eat their vegetables. I read them bedtime stories and rocked them when they had a bad dream.
I messed up a couple of times on the whole tooth fairy thing, but no parent is perfect.
And then the magic happened. They grew up. In many ways this was bittersweet. Them growing up, because it was the end of an era.
But it was also a beginning. And beginnings can be fun. And beautiful. And just another wonderful chapter in life.
The loss of their childhoods blossomed into the cusp of their own adulthoods.
And you want to know something no one ever tells you when you contemplate having children?
Adult children can be even more rewarding than regular children. Adult children become your contemporaries. They share interests and history. When adult children want to spend time with you in many ways it is 100-times more valuable than 10 years prior, because as adults they now have the choice, and in choosing you they are showing their true heart. They are demonstrating the culmination of all those late night feedings, middle of the night diaper changes, 3-hour long dance recitals and T-ball games.
Babies are beautiful. Kinders are wonderful. The loose tooth years are fabulous. Teens can be trying but also tremendous.
But your kids as adults? It is amazing. They are amazing. I never thought about parenthood as raising adults, but it’s exactly what I did. And I’m so glad, because I may have birthed four babies, but now, I have four friends. The outcome is something I never anticipated or expected, but it’s better than I ever could have imagined.
Times a million. Maybe even more. For sure even more.
Jill Pertler is an award-winning syndicated columnist, published playwright and author. Don’t miss a slice; follow the Slices of Life page on Facebook.
