**Cross-posted to my other blog**
I'm a working mom (and neurotic in general) who tends to try to cram as much as possible into every moment -- my alone time, hanging out with the husband or friends, etc. It's how I function and I've always just shrugged my shoulders when Michael gives me a hard time about hand piecing hexagons for a quilt while watching TV or reading a book during slow parts of a movie.
Committing to the moment is a serious struggle -- my mind wanders and jumps about wondering what I could/should be doing instead and I never felt guilty about it until I became a parent.
(Yeah... I'm pretty sure guilt is a huge part of raising a child. Who knew?)
The other day, I was thinking about my favorite childhood memories and it sparked a revelation: I don't remember how clean or dirty the house was or if my mom's hair was styled immaculately. I remember my Dad telling me bedtime stories about "Malibu Kitties". I remember mom & dad rolling around on the den floor having tickle "fights" with us. I remember playing catch or HORSE with my Dad in the early evenings. I remember being in charge of the flashlight during my mom's black widow "hunting" in the yard. I remember singing the Gilligan's Island & Green Acres theme songs in the car with my Dad. Those are the memories that stick with me as an adult -- my parents making me feel like I was an indispensable help and the center of their universe.
I am INCREDIBLY lucky to have a happy, healthy son who wants nothing more than my undivided attention and when I do find myself truly in the moment with Gaius? Letting him climb all over me (kicking me in the face in the process), tickling him, snuggling with him on the sofa and watching his amazement during an episode of Curious George, watching him running around naked in the backyard, chasing eachother around the house squealing, dancing together in the kitchen, swinging on the swingset, helping him give the cats hugs, letting him stick his fingers in my mouth to explore my teeth, the look of pure joy when I bring out his stuffed doggie before bedtime... That's when I can really see why people say being a parent is the best thing to ever happen to them (and that's HUGE coming from me).
Being a parent is hard... really hard (I don't think I can stress this enough to non-parents). I struggle with not putting myself first, multitasking, guilt, exhaustion, exasperation, lack of a social life, dirty diapers, boogers, sharp toys thrown dangerously about the floor and staircase, screaming, crying, anger, and helplessness among some other not so great stuff. I'm not afraid to admit that sometimes it seriously sucks.
But when you're in the moment, it can be beautiful. Amazing, heart-achingly beautiful. And although being a parent happened years earlier than this control-freak had initially planned, I have to admit that I'm a lucky son-of-a-bitch.
**A friend just sent me this article about parenting that was floating around the internet a couple of months back (that I somehow missed at the time), Don't Carpe Diem, and it's a must read!**
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