Before I became a parent, no one told me anything about parenting. They told me I was “blessed” and that I was “lucky” and, of course, that my whole life was about to change, followed by a karmic “Ha ha ha.” But (pregnancy horror stories and terrible two warnings aside) no one ever really gave me the lowdown on the emotional impact parenting might have on me. When “real” parenting began and when it ended (hint, it rhymes with “never”). Heck, now that I think of it, I’m sure my mother told me. I probably just never listened. At any rate, here’s a sliver of what I wish I had known…
…that yes, it’s true, you might poop in front of your team of nurses and doctors when giving birth to your new baby boy. And that that would be the first indication of the often humiliating and gut-wrenching job you’ve just signed up for.
…that you will think you’ve given birth to the next Einstein but chances are more probable that you’ve given birth to the next John Smith. And he’ll be super cool and just as wonderful anyway.
…that that seemingly independent, super intelligent eight-year-old, eleven-year-old, sixteen-year-old still needs your guidance and still needs to be reigned in, and still needs to be told what to do. And when you question if your job is done once they can finally tie their shoes and finally get up for school on their own and finally do their own laundry; when you think, “Well, at this point, I just need to be present,” that’s when your job actually gets harder.
…that you will think your love for that baby will last a lifetime, uninterrupted, but in reality, it will wax and wane like the moon. Trust me, when he crashes your car, spills black paint on your new carpet or gets his girlfriend pregnant at 19, your love and adoration will be tested. OK, so, maybe you will always love him, but you might not always “like” him.
…that you will lose, as if like a death, that sweet little boy you have come to know so well and fiercely call your own. Right at about age 14 he will physically disappear. And by 16, even if he still lets you kiss and hug him, he will be gone and this new person will have taken his place, with only the shadow of the little person he once was. You will see those long lost qualities in him as if you are looking at his offspring. Watered down, and only 25% of you.
…that those gazillion baby pics you took of him when he was picking his nose or falling into his toy box or holding up a frog–those pictures that everyone told you were too many, that everyone laughed at your over-enthusiasm for taking, Like, really? You need another picture of your kid in that ridiculous Halloween costume?— those pics will fade within 15-years time, and they will look like an old Polaroid from the 70’s. And half of them will somehow disappear. And every single stinking one of them that’s left will be worth holding on to.
…that your job description as a parent is not a simple check list of tasks you must accomplish or hats you have to wear or titles or positions you have to carry. There’s no real satisfaction of completion, seeing a project from start to finish. You’re job is more like a researcher who conducts long term studies on human behavior and has to wait 40 years to see if the experiment even worked.
…that his love for you is in direct proportion to your attention to him. That he will need you to be less his teacher and more his biggest fan. That discipline, guidance and parenting aside, he will need you to love what he loves. Even if it’s Minecraft or his off-key singing, or soccer, or his horrible choice in music.
…that he will most likely fail and struggle the same way you did when you were his age. But he’s not you. You don’t get a second chance.
…that he is your best investment. Not your job. Not your new fiancé. Not the book you’re publishing. Not your retirement fund. Not the millions of poor people you donate to each year. Your child is. He is the end result of who you chose to be in your lifetime and all your actions leading up to this point. All that will come back to you for better or worse. So, invest wisely.
…that you’re allowed to make a certain but undetermined amount of mistakes with him. He will forgive you for most if not all of them. But, he will eventually tell you at some point that you ruined his life. At some other point, typically when he has a child of his own, he will retract those words and tell you that parenting is tough and he recognizes you did the best you knew how at the time.