So Much of Parenting Is Just This Simple, Easy* Thing

*maybe not so easy

So much of parenting is paying attention. And mind you, paying attention to them and not yourself.

Here’s that book you mentioned you want to read.

Here’s that toy you asked for. Yes, I remembered.

Here’s your pasta the way you like it. Here’s your tea the way you like it. Here’s a warm blanket.

Show me your video. Show me your song. Show me that story. Show me that project.

That was so good. That was so fun. You must be so proud of yourself. I’m so proud of you. I knew you could do it. I never doubted it.

So much of parenting is letting them sit in the uncomfortable places without rescuing them.

I know you’re bored. How exciting.

I know you’re hungry. Dinner is soon.

I know you don’t want to do this. Sometimes life asks us to do things we don’t want to do.

I know you’re scared to do this. I think you have it in you to do what it takes.

I know you might fail. If you do, that’s okay. We’ll figure it out together.

I know this is really hard. But we can do hard things.

And so much of parenting is holding the balance, arms stretched across chasms.

So much we don’t say;
so much we wish we had.

So much I can’t change;
probably a lot I should change if I knew better.

Swallow my pride, swallow a million words, spare them the lecture and step into the gaping empty room of silence with head nods and “Tell me more.”

So much of parenting is biting your tongue when it looks dangerous because dangerous isn’t always bad and when your boy climbs to the high branches for the first time on his own, you swallow your urge to shout and you instead say,

Wow. You finally did it! Look at you go!
And then text your husband that he needs to do this with him next time.

Sometimes parenting looks like putting medical gauze on self-harm cuts because your daughter tells you the cuts are hurting. She is only 15 and you do it gently so as to not hurt her more. She has braved this moment and she trusts you. The hush of the room feels delicate. So you don’t panic and you don’t cry when you see the other hundred scars healing and you don’t grab her by the shoulders and shake her and ask “WHY???” and you don’t melt into a puddle of tears right there.

You just calmly pull the tape and gently lay the gauze. And you tell her

It’s okay. This will heal.

You won’t hurt forever.

And you mean it in a hundred different ways.

Sometimes parenting looks like that.

Sometimes parenting looks like swallowing all of your fears, your pain, your stories, your experience, and asking again,

“Are you looking for help finding a solution? Or do you need me to just listen?”

And when they say, just listen, you do that. You claw your grip into your thighs and heart a little deeper because that’s what they need from you. They need you to not react. They need you to be able to handle it. To look back down at your book, the sauce pan, the project you were just working on and pretend to be reading, cooking, working on it again while they spill their hearts. You help pick up the pieces. You listen and ask and listen again. Then you go to your room and cry. You call your spouse, your best friend, your sister, the Lord and you’ll feel it all and hold them again in your heart like you did when they were just a baby and you felt incredibly unqualified to care for a human without a how-to book and you’ll realize it was

never about what you could do.

You could do it all “right” and it might fail.
You could do it all “wrong” and the Lord works miracles.
You just need to show up, every day. Books and bandages in hand. Tree climbing and medical care. Big dreams and big fears. Young hearts and real pain.

You never stop carrying your children, the weight of them heavy in your heart.

So much of parenting is this.