It's a Good Thought

Before I had kids, I was terrified of them.  Really, I was terrified of failure.  What if my kids hated me?  A very wise and patient woman, who had no end of difficulties with her own grown-up children, asked 17-year-old me, "Will you love your children?"  That was an easy question to answer.  "Of course."  "Then you'll be fine."  I was shocked.  Here was a woman who birthed and raised several children, who since turned away from her and don't speak to her any more, and she was positive about the whole experience?  She STILL thought it was worth it?

I was sold.  And I've tried to keep that conversation in mind.  If I can just love my kids, even if I'm failing in other areas, then I'll be fine.

I met Rob, fell in love, and bam! we were having babies.  But here's the thing.  Somewhere in those 2 years I forgot about the idea of having children who grew up.  Rob and I weren't going to have a child who would turn into an adult.  We were having a baby.

And that's different.  Babies aren't beings, quite.  At least not really.  They're sort of extensions of yourself.  Sure they cry sometimes, but that'll be outweighed by the times when they laugh, and by your overwhelming love for the little one.  And then you have this idea that as they age, you will mold them into something you like.  You will help them learn and grow, and the whole process will be rewarding and even fun.  If it's frustrating sometimes, that's okay, because there are better days ahead, and you'll keep it all in perspective.  Everything seemed so do-able and happy and magic.

The magic quickly lost its sparkle, for me, because Miciah was such a fussy newborn that I lost my mind every night for months.  And when she was a toddler, and I had another baby, and I moved across the country, and I had no friends, my perspective wasn't a happy one.  I didn't remember all those great fuzzy things that I was supposed to.  I just thought the whole thing was horrible.

The whole thing isn't horrible.  But it's not magic, either.  Some days it's horrible, and some days it's magic, but it's neither one for very long.  Mostly it's a positive experience, when I sit back and look at it.  My wise and patient friend was right.  It has been worth it.

My kids are all getting older now, and they all have personalities.  They are no longer in any way simply extensions of myself.  It strikes me now that I will be dealing with these particular personalities for the rest of my life, whether I like them or not.  It seems likely that someday they will be grown-ups and they'll move out of the house, and I may or may not be happy with the person they've become.  This is a whole different thing than having a baby or a toddler.  Suddenly I wonder if my children will want to get good grades or go to college.  I wonder, even if they don't, and they're flunking classes on purpose, will I still be saying, "But I love them, so it's okay."  And then once they're fully grown, what if they've decided to be bad people?  "I love them, so it's okay?"

I think it's unlikely that they'll choose to be bad people on a long-term basis.  And that's probably why I embarked on this process to start with:  it seemed like a good bet that I would like my children, and the adults they eventually would become.

In the last few weeks I've been thinking about all that.  I've been thinking about each of my children, one by one, as they are.  I know I'm not likely to change them into "what I want," nor do I even know what it is I'd want if I were given the option.  I've been thinking about my childrens' pros and cons, and about my own personality, and how it meshes (or doesn't) with theirs.  

And it's a good thought.  I'm happy to share my life with these people.  Cheers, kiddos, to growing up.  I'll enjoy the ride.