My greatest struggle as a parent is accepting that you can’t always fix it: You can’t swoop in every single time and undo the wrong, fix the booboo, or take away the hurt. It wasn’t until F was born that I really understood what it felt like to love someone so much that you could feel what they felt. It almost takes your breath away.
It takes my breath away all the time.
Recently, F has had some tough things to handle and, because it’s not my story to tell, I won’t divulge the details except to say that there are currently more pieces of my heart scattered on the floor than there are Lego pieces.
My heart breaks as I’m biting my tongue to try to not to rush to F’s defence; letting him cry it out when he’s done wrong and had to be disciplined; watching him try to fix things for himself. It’s so hard and, if seven years of parenting has taught me anything, I’m pretty sure it doesn’t get easier.
As a people-pleaser and a perfectionist, there’s nothing harder for me than to not do it for him. To not swoop in. To not clean up the mess. To not intervene.
As his Mama (and a total softie), it’s devastating to hear him cry, see him feeling bad, or try to stand my ground when I’ve handed down a punishment.
I used to think our bedtime struggle was the greatest parenting hurdle I’d ever have to overcome. I was wrong. The hardest part of parenting is learning how to step aside.