In my pre-parenthood days, there was a lot of advice that was given freely from many sources. Some of it was appreciated, some of it was filed away for when the time came for transitioning from nursing to solid food, and many times I just naively rolled my eyes and swore I wouldn't be 'that' parent.
Looking back, having ten parenting years under my belt, it seems that much of that advice revolved around adjusting to having a baby, the months after the baby arrives, how to lose the baby weight, and how to juggle all the newness and nerve wracking events all rolled into one. This can be a very messy time for sure.
But where I sit now, there is much more that I would have liked to know about before getting into this profession called parenting, and I mean that with all sincerity. In fact, there is not much in terms of job experience that has gone undone in the last ten years.
I have wiped, changed, and cleaned every person, pet, and surface in this house. But that is not the hardest part of this profession. I feel that the messiest part is the new chapter that my children and I are entering in.
You see, when babies are born, we coo over them. We snuggle them and make promises to keep them safe and secure. We tell them that they can become all that they desire and cheer their first steps. When they mark these milestones we smile and our hearts burst with pride.
Then they learn to run, skip, ride a bike, and roller blade. There is nothing that they can't do. We see their wings fluttering and we know they are going to take off.
But some of our little ones battle oppressors that we weren't prepared to parent. There was no advice given for when your youngest son, at eight, bursts into tears at the mere mention of playing baseball.
"MOM!!! Why did you sign me up for baseball? I don't want to play. I hate baseball!"
"No you don't. You played it last year and liked it."
"NO I DIDN'T! I hate it. It's boring. Why did you sign me up? I don't want to play."
(Imagine this last line being said behind tear brimmed eyes, which are surrounded by bright red cheeks. I know. He's good at bringing the guilt.)
So what's a mom to do? Do I become "That" Mom? The one who forces her child to play a game because all the other kids are playing it?
No, what I do is drop the subject for the moment, hope the boy child calms down and comes to his senses. We are a long line of Yankee and Cardinal fans in our lineage.
Later that night I sweetly bring up this 'boring baseball' issue during the night time ritual of tuck-in and snuggling. Surely a snuggle will make it all better.
"Honey, let's talk about baseball?"
Even before the second syllable falls from my lips, tears instantly appear in the boy child's eyes and stream down his little face.
"MOM! I told you I don't want to play baseball! Why did you sign me up! You know I don't like baseball!"
And there we have it! He is not budging.
"But why? What is it about baseball that you don't like?"
And that is when he falters. He looks at me with those teary eyes, and decides to bear his heart.
"You want to know. You really want to know why I don't like baseball? It's because.... I'm scared.
I'm scared of people looking at me. I'm scared of people laughing at me when I strike out."
And in that moment all I can think of is how brave my little man is to be telling the truth. How smart he is for naming why it is that he doesn't want to play baseball. But I also want to scream, "HELLO????? Where is the advice fountain now?"
Where are all those other mothers who so graciously told me when to stop nursing, or when to introduce rice cereal, or when to take away the sippy cup?
That's all the daily messy that we all deal with. But what about the emotional messy? Where are the chapters and outlines to navigate those times? What wise words are we given? Where are the blueprints to battle these dragons?
Nope. We are forced to forge our own swords and prepare for battle the best way we know how.
I was at a loss for my little man. I sat there thinking about the two choices. Do I let him quit or do I make him play. Do I force him into something he clearly doesn't want to do, or do I help him battle this dragon known as FEAR.
I chose to help him step up to the plate.
You see, if he had told me he would rather play basketball, or paint, or take ballet I would have been fine with it. It didn't matter that it was baseball. What mattered was that it was FEAR that was dictating his decision. It was fear that was looking him in the face and intimidating him and breathing dragon breath down his neck. It was fear that was holding him back from experiencing what baseball really could be. I couldn't stand by and let FEAR win.
So we talked about fear. We talked about how we all have it.
I talked about how I was afraid to be a mom for the first time. But I also told him that I spent time talking to other moms, and reading about being a mom. I practiced taking care of other people's kids. I got all the baby gear I needed to be prepared and by the time his brother was born I felt ready. However, that didn't mean I wasn't scared at other times.
I also mentioned that I am sure people still laugh at me in the grocery store with all three kids in tow. I have learned to ignore them and move on. Ain't no body got time for that. Let judgers judge. Momma's got shopping to do!
He smiled and laughed. I smiled and laughed and at the end of the night he decided he would at least go to practice but he wasn't 'versing' anyone in a game. I decided that was progress and we could work with that.
The next day, we while we put on his cleats for practice, we realized that said cleats were a little too tight.
So off we went to the most expensive sporting goods store in town because a) I knew it was the only place that would probably not be picked over and b) it was exactly 40 minutes before practice was to start. We like to live on the edge.
Needless to say, when we walked in to the store, this small boy child was overcome with all the cool gear. He saw the shining helmets which would protect his head. He saw the soft leather gloves that would give him a better grip, and his feet felt the strong molded cleats that would give him traction to race down the first base line.
"Mom, these gloves feel really good on my hands......Mom, these cleats feel great on my feet......Mom this helmet fits my head perfectly."
Folks, I am not above bribing.
But more than that, I think that for many of us, when we are faced with the scary and messy parts of our lives, having the right gear makes everything seem so much easier to bear. It makes stepping up to the plate that much less intimidating, and smacking the crap out of FEAR that much more sweet.
Swing away baby boy....swing away!
http://momastery.com/carry-on-warrior
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