Being the boss

Did you consider, when you were fawning with your amour over the thought of all things baby, that babies grow up into children? And children to teenagers? And that only when they are fully grown peace might be restored, somewhat, in your life once again?

I didn't. I laugh at myself as I write this. I had this fantasy of the perfect little family, with the perfect little baby and little children as if everyday would be Christmas morning. We would be perfect parents and joy would be the resounding characteristic of my home. 



Did you realize that you would actually be responsible for another human, perhaps a few of them, in every single conceivable way? First-time mommies with babies: ALERT! This is the easy part. Enjoy it. It does pass faster than you can imagine. You are responsible for keeping baby cleaned, fed, safe and relatively happy. After this it gets tricky and you will find yourself tested in ways never expected.



Before they talked back



Not only do we have to keep our children clean and fed, which can be enough of a challenge (the cleaning part is a challenge because we have to feed them!), but we also have to teach them everything! How to brush their teeth, put on shoes, wipe their butts, eat with a fork, drink from a cup, say please and thank you, zip zippers, button buttons, be nice with animals and people, speak nicely, etiquette, grammar, handle their emotions, bullies and teachers, wash their hands and so on and so on and so on. And while we're teaching, they dare to develop their own opinions, likes and preferences and discover their independent selves!

We are the bosses of our children, but it's like being the president of a country in constant anarchy! It's hourly mutiny! And when they aren't trying to kill each other they are ganging up against us! Our job is to teach our children to be independent of us, but it actually makes our job harder because they assert their independence whenever they want instead of whenever we want.

Good thing they give amazing hugs, isn't it? 23 hours and 59 minutes of stress and craziness melt away with one sweet hug. And when it doesn't, well, I guess I'll have to heed the wise words of my 5-year-old (her recent response to my request to stop whining), "You wanted to have us, so you're just going to have to deal with it."