Growing Up is Hard to Do

I think one of the best lessons I’ve learned as a mom is not to judge other mothers.

You know, you go to a store, or the playground, and there’s a horribly-behaved child there, and your first thought is "what did the parents do wrong" or at the very least "where are that kid’s parents?". At least mine is. And the inverse happens, too. When your child does something really well, or acts in a way other parents praise, your own chest sort of puffs up with parental pride – yes, pride for your children, but at least a little bit of pride in yourself as a parent, as well.

I used to get that feeling all the time with my youngest daughter. First of all, she’s one of those white-haired blondies with big blue eyes. A genetic accident, yes, but a happy one for her. So even before she does anything or opens her mouth, she’s got a fan base going. Then, in addition to her physical cuteness, she’s got a killer personality. She’s positively brimming over with the excitement of, well, life…in all it’s mundane-ness. She’s the posterchild for "seeing the world through a child’s eyes". Really. She literally vibrates with excitement over the simplest pleasures. And, she genuinely loves people, so she scores on that point as well. It’s just this: people love my daughter.

I used to just sit and marvel at this little three year old success-story-in-waiting. HOW did we manage SO WELL? Happy to take credit (in my own heart) I would just shrug my shoulders and say "she’s always been like that" when the other preschool parents marveled at how she just waltzed into class with a nonchalant wave good-bye, while they were busy peeling their screaming little ones off every available loose body part, piece of jewellery or item of clothing. Or I’d console them with tales of how she had never, EVER slept through the night, and wouldn’t go to bed unless I was lying in it with her.

And then, one day, she DID go to bed without Mommy. Just like that.  Now she’s easier to put down than her older sister. So, for a few months there, I had it all – a happy-go-lucky, lovable, cute and EASY child to raise…what more could a parent ask for? In my heart, I gloated. We MUST have some kind of magic. We MUST be doing something right. Well…

All of a sudden…it hit. Severe (and I do mean severe) separation anxiety. My formerly sociable, outgoing daughter had turned into one of the clingers. Seemingly overnight, the child started running out of her preschool classroom in the middle of class looking for me. I couldn’t stay and watch at swimming lessons or she’d be racing for the observation gallery sobbing. I couldn’t stand on the sidelines to cheer her on at soccer or she’d run away in the middle of a play just to climb "uppy". I certainly couldn’t volunteer in her classroom or she’d never leave my side. And getting her to stay at school became an object lesson in primate biology…ever wonder how the baby chimpanzees cling on to their mother’s bellies while mom carouses about in the treetops? Come and watch me try to pry this one’s little fingers off my arms, fingers, hair, ears, pockets, purse-straps, shoelaces…you get the picture, right?

And that’s to say nothing of the tears, the attempt at a brave face, the one arm stretched out in a silent appeal: "help! don’t leave me here alone!"

I will admit. There are days when I phone her in sick to preschool when she is, in fact, perfectly well. I do it because I simply cannot face the separation routine. Even though her teachers assure me that she’s fine the minute I leave. I know this. But it doesn’t make it any easier. You see, I’ve always been what you’d call a largely-attachment parent. I breastfed past two years (well past, actually) but weaning was my decision in the end. And I co-slept for over three years, but leaving the bed was also my decision in the end. So, to date, my basic parenting style has been based not entirely on my children’s needs/wants, but largely on trusting their reactions tempered by what feels right to me.

As babies and young toddlers, I basically trusted my children to let me know what they needed, but now that they’re older, I recognize that there are plenty of times when I, as the parent, am going to have to exercise my better judgement about plenty of situations. (For example, my older daughter heard her teacher say that she has achieved grade one milestones and is ready for grade two. She tries to use this as a reason not to finish the school year; I disagree, therefore she continues to attend school.)

But this one has got me really conflicted. Do I think preschool is good for my daughter? Sure it is. Do I want and/or need her to be there? Yes, in fact, I rely on that time as a key productive work period for myself. Does it feel wrong to have to leave her somewhere that she so obviously doesn’t want to go? Yes. It feels terrible!

So that’s my conundrum. I have always beleived in trusting my "mommy sense" and listening to my children. When something feels so obviously wrong and frightening for my child, my instinct tells me to reconsider. I’ve never been able to reconcile the parenting approaches that advocate ignoring a child’s distress in favour of adult priorities like sleep, routine, quiet, etc. I always said "we don’t stop being parents when the sun goes down" if people marveled at my night-time nursing or co-sleeping. In fact, I marveled at their ability to disregard their child’s calls for comfort.

And yes, I know that a child who’s nearly four is very capable of manipulating me, where a baby is undeniably not. Crying when Mommy leaves her at preschool is certainly not the same as a cry for comfort or hunger in the middle of the night from a little baby. I get that. But it doesn’t make it any easier to deal with, you know? I wonder, what’s going on in her life that she suddenly needs me so much at times when she was formerly so independent? I can’t think of anything too different in our lives for the last several months, nor can I think of any triggering incident (i.e. something scary happened at preschool). And maybe it’s that it has happened mid-stream; she used to go off happily to preschool and she’d come home full of smiles and stories of her antics with her friends. These days, the first words out of her mouth are, apprehensively, "do I have school today, Mommy?"

It breaks my heart, and my mommy-sense screams, "she’s scared, don’t make her do it!" But my mind says, "she’ll grow out of it…it’s a phase…work through it…she’ll be fine…" As of now, I listen to my mind and just talk up preschool as if it’s Disneyland and her teacher is Mother Theresa incarnate. I pep-talk her on how we’re going to be happy to go to preschool today and say good-bye to Mommy without crying. Then I go through the peel-off routine (thankfully her teacher is very kind and understanding and will go out of her way to ease the transition) and walk out of there suppressing my own near-tears. And feel terrible. Blah.

So, I take it to you…any wise words of advice from other moms out there dealing with (or dealt with) this one? As I tell my older daughter all the time, growing up is hard to do – but now I find that helping someone grow up is even harder!

Kath is mom to two daughters aged 6.5 and nearly 4. Share your thoughts and suggestions below in comments.