Greener

Oliver and I went to church in Maple Plain on Sunday, where my Dad is a pastor. Our family has been a part of that congregation for nearly twenty years, which means that they're like extended family to us. As a daughter of the solo pastor, it also meant that I have a hundred-or-so sets of parents and grandparents. They watched me grow from an awkward middle-schooler with braces to a mother, so Oliver is pretty special to them.

One dear friend, a woman in her eighties, doted on Ollie and said to me, "Isn't it just wonderful? I bet you can't even remember what life was like before he came along!"

I nodded politely and smiled, but answered to myself something like this: "Hhhhhhhaaaaa, ha ha ha ha ha haaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa! I'm pretty sure I can remember..." I remember sleeping through the night. I remember sleeping as long as I wanted to on Saturday. I remember when I could finish a meal, and didn't have to share half of it. I remember when I didn't have to schedule details around someone else's naps, hunger levels, or diapers. I remember playing with my cat. I remember blow-drying my hair. I remember staying up past 10pm. Eleven, even! I remember a lot less laundry and dishes, but more counter and cupboard space in the kitchen. I remember going home and flopping down on the couch, and staying there for as long as I wanted. I remember leaving to go somewhere and not coming back inside the house six times to get extra nuks, change a freshly-soiled diaper, and wipe up the curdled spit-up on the floor. I remember having two arms and two hands. I remember putting on an outfit and not needing to desperately blot out and spray perfume on the spot where a diaper leaked onto it, just a little.

I want to make it very, very clear that I am not complaining, nearly musing in the differences in the before-and-after. I take joy in even the grossest and most exasperating of moments. We are so blessed to be parents, and being Oliver's Mommy is so wonderful, just as my elderly friend said. The above does not make that statement any different. Parenting is hard. I always laughed at people who said this. Like, hello, what did you expect, a 24-7 nanny service, free with any new infant? But I've come to understand the importance of owning the fact that being a parent is difficult. It is okay to have a bad day, even a bad week. It's okay to try less, and feel like a "bad" parent for a while. It's okay to fall apart at little things, and just say, "This is hard. Parenting is hard today."



Similarly, as the roles of being parents continue to sink in more and more, Michael and I are starting to own the fact that we sometimes miss the times when it was just us. When I was at church in Maple Plain, Michael was at another former church of ours, one we attended when we lived in our little Minnetonka apartment. Michael had driven past our old place, and sent me a picture of its entryway. "I miss this," he texted.



I gave that some thought. I miss that, too. Of course we are thrilled to be parents. But I think it's okay to miss the "old" days from time to time. Pre-house and pre-baby, we had so much more time. I need to remember, though, that the grass is always greener you-know-where. Sure, I have these glowing, feathered-edged images of us swimming in the pool several times a week, playing tennis, sleeping in, and going to a lot of movies. But we also spent time longing for our own home to take care of, more space, and little ones to run through it.



Our current dream includes those diapers and the spilled sippy cups, and fingerprints all over the glass we just cleaned. We're a little more tired and ragged than we bargained for, but hey, parenting is hard. And we are so fortunate to be right where we are.