Parental Pursuits

I am encouraging A to help her friend Emily clean up their toys when A grabs Emily's shirt and pulls hard. The tug is accompanied by a look that clearly reads, "Back off." "A!" I admonish because using the middle name always means business. "That behavior is unacceptable!" (Right now my brother is saying that using phrases like unacceptable is my first problem.) The nursery worker who'd been keeping both girls also witnesses the interchange and remarks, "She's been doing that all day."

Okay, how exactly do I respond to that? Crawl under the table. Say, "Yup, that's my girl. She's feisty." Smugly shrug it off while responding, "Don't look at me. She takes that from her daddy." Instead, I just sigh, pick up my toddler, and for the hundred millionth time explain that we don't hit, pull hair, or shove. Oh, A.

It seems that lately my daily exchanges with A sound more like this:....

"No, A." "Stop, A." "Don't do that, A." "Dell isn't a horse." "Please stop dumping Dell's waterbowl onto your head." "Don't throw that." "Stop pushing Sara." "We don't hit Lucy. She won't visit anymore." "A!"

...than I care to admit. When I was younger and daydreamed about being a mommy, I always pictured myself radiant, calm, long, blonde hair, flowing skirt, chasing my giggling golden-headed cherub through a field of flowers. (Stop laughing. It's my daydream.) Half of my dream came true. I got my golden-headed cherub just as I imagined she'd be: sweet, loving, adventurous, wonderful. But when did I go from cool, Breck-girl hippie mom to short, choppy-haired, drill seargant. I spend more time barking negative commands than laughing and cooing.

Why? Am I trying to parent to everyone else's expectations? Am I expecting too much from A? I mean, I can't take her to the park and just idly watch her hit or pull hair. I can't allow her to pull the dog's tail off one hair at a time. When she throws the plastic blender and pots from her kitchen onto the floor because mommy's busy cooking dinner, shouldn't she then pick them up? Is my own fear of what others might think driving me to place unreasonable expectations on my two-year-old? Am I completely insane, or do other mothers worry about these same things?!!!

What I don't want is to create a little girl devoid of exuberance, creativity, and zest for life. I want my little girl to explore with glee, to test the waters, to try it all, to savor every wonderful blessing God has given us, but with proper limits. I've always heard that parents tend to be too hard on the first child, setting that child up to later have unreasonable expectations of herself. I swore I'd never do that to A , but am I? I rue the day A ever begins to think that mommy is impossible to please. But, I do want a well-disciplined child with impulse control, a strong moral compass, and good decision-making skills. How do I strike that delicate balance?

The truth is I demand a great deal from myself, which is both a blessing and a curse. I also like having all the answers and knowing that they're the correct ones. So the great frustration with parenting, is that it leaves me with no answers, yet I still demand that it be done correctly. It has to be; my daughter's well-being depends on it. (I think Robert Frost wrote a poem making fun of people like me.) The greater, more frustrating paradox is that there is no one right way to rear a child. No one has all the answers, no one except God. So instead of lamenting on this blog, I should probably be on my knees in prayer, and I do strive to be a prayerful parent. Fortunately, I also have a friend who is investing in a good pair of knee pads for all of her parental praying. Maybe she'll let me borrow them.

When it all comes down to it, I love A, more than I ever even dared daydream. As I write this with one hand, my baby is nestled against my shoulder still groggy from her lengthy half-hour nap. She is wonderful, talented, and real. In my mommy daydream, I only got as far as catching my little one and twirling her. I never imagined how sweet her voice would sound when she says, "help mommy," while holding up her bike helmet and knee pads. Or how wonderful it would be when she sighs, "Uv you mommy." Nor did I imagine the reality of parenting, like where she was actually pulling my hair and shouting no as I spun her around. I also never imagined the depth of love, the heart-wrenching desire to do it right, to ensure that Afeels loved, appreciated, special, yet to also see to it that A knows how to contribute and make others feel loved, appreciated, and special.

I know that the terrible two's are short-lived and hopefully so is the hair-pulling stage, although we're now on month six! Three years from now, we'll be in the "Mommy can't let go, won't stop crying on first day of school" stage. I'm also beginning to realize that I don't have to figure out how to parent all in one day, even though that would be nice. I also don't have to do it like everyone else. So I guess I'll do the only things I can: pray (tons), love (that's the easy part), trust God to guide me, and just take it one day at a time. The unknown is part of what makes parenting such a great adventure, and I wouldn't trade that for anything. I can only imagine what a basket-case I'll be during the teenage years?!