I’ve been a mother now for about 14 1/2 years, if you don’t count the period of gestation that Anabel spent nestled inside of my womb, which I do. I’ve loved it far more than I ever expected to.
These little people regularly surprise me with their moments of surreal wisdom and their other moments of exquisite kindness. I’ve often been struck by the thought that my Littles are – to a boy and to a girl – better people than I am. It’s been a humbling journey, raising them.
I’ve been exhausted sometimes and I’ve been grouchy sometimes. Just the other day, my little Lola helped me fold laundry and held up a pair of my immense (to her eyes) and tattered underwear. These are not the sort of underwear one hopes to be wearing when one finds oneself unexpectedly checked in to the hospital. She held them up in a sort of disgusted reverence, and sighed forth a deep and protracted wooooooah. In response, I treated her to one of these aforementioned grouchy moments. After a clipped lecture on treating others the way you’d like to be treated, it dawned on me even as I spoke that I countermanded my own orders. The gentle reproach in her little brown eyes showed me how I was wrong.
Dwelling still in my pre-children naievity, I didn’t expect to learn so much from my own offspring. I suppose if I’m being perfectly frank, I assumed that I would be the wise Teacher and that they would be the flawlessly obedient Students. At all times and without exception. I failed to anticipate times where my son would read my blog on a sick day and ask me confusedly why I swore in a recent post. I wasn’t expecting my daughter to read some of my interactions on Facebook and tell me gently that sometimes I come across as harsh and unresponsive. She taught me that you can never use too many happy smile icons to thaw the iciness that cyberspace can sometimes create through misunderstanding. I’ve been shocked many times at the lessons my children so firmly grasped already and that in stark contrast, I did not. I’m learning some things. 🙂 🙂 🙂