Set Adrift on Parenting Bliss

Up until recently, I haven’t been writing about parenting even though it is the defining element of my life in these last few years. I didn’t because I think others are doing it with more wisdom and insight than I have. What could I possibly have to write about that would help other parents?

I am a hot mess of palm-to-forehead moments.

I am exhausted and confused most of the time.

I make daily inappropriate jokes about selling my children to gypsies.

I yell too much.

I walk a fine parenting line between supermom, adequate, and downright degenerate.

I don't know much about parenting, nothing for certain anyway.

Except one thing.

It really does take a village to raise a child.

I didn't realize how much so until I left my village.

About a year or so after my oldest son was born, we abruptly moved two states away and I found myself adrift, lonely, and lost. I had thought I was strongly independent, a loner even, but I was wrong. I have come to realize parenting requires a network of support for the parents' sanity and the child's well-being. The more caring surrounding parents and children the better. This is something I had taken for granted.

When my first son was born, I lived in a city within an hour of my parents and some other family.  After over a decade of living and working in this city, I had acquired a network of friends that had become family and kind acquaintances. I couldn't go anywhere without seeing someone I knew.

As a first-time parent, along came all of the typical confusion, exhaustion, and fear, but I wasn't alone. Family came for day trips to help. Friends invited me out for walks or came by for coffee and held my son. Other friends had children within months or days of my son's birth. Everywhere we would go, my young son was surrounded by others who loved him almost as much as I did.

If I got into a work crunch or something unplanned came up, there was always someone to step in and help me juggle it all. I had several offers to babysit as needed. I had play dates and family-friendly work. In that environment, despite the confusion, exhaustion, and fear, I dove into early parenthood with abandon. I appeared at special events and parties. I worked part-time. My infant son and I went out and about. We felt loved and safe. I felt I had a handle on things.

Then, my husband got the opportunity to take a new job in a major city two states away. We were excited for the opportunity and big change. We moved in a flurry of weekend commutes, house showings, and packing. Shortly after settling into a temporary walk-up apartment, I found out I was pregnant again.

Now I was a stay-at-home parent of a toddler, pregnant, and unsettled. For a short time, my husband ended up traveling more than he was home. I wandered between playgrounds and parent and child classes. I made some acquaintances, but people seemed to disappear into the city so easily. See them once and never again. People move neighborhoods and it is as though they crossed an ocean. Everyone seemed to be in a temporary place of waiting to buy something bigger, to move to the suburbs, or transfer to another city. I never knew it could be so easy to be lonely and invisible surrounded by people.

I had imagined making eye-contact with someone struggling to get the stroller up the curb would be automatic solidarity. We would give a head nod and have each other's back. However, at least in my neighborhood, parenting turned out to be a competition for preschool spots, early-learning classes, languages spoken, and advanced skills. Sarcastic comments about drinking cocktails at nap time and selling my children to gypsies were met with strange looks and slow shakes of the head. Part of the competition was taking parenting VERY seriously. I didn't quite fit in.

I missed my support system. I missed impromptu Sunday afternoon family gatherings. I missed talks with friends over coffee about how grossly unprepared we were to be responsible for these little people. I missed knowing someone was only a phone call and a few blocks away at all times. I missed group dinners and inside jokes. I missed the safety net.

My second son was born and I was overwhelmed by having an infant and toddler. My kids spent almost all of their time with only me. I didn't think this was the best thing for either of us. In this environment, steeped in confusion, exhaustion, and fear, I withdrew into myself. I was sad without knowing why. I felt anxious all of the time. I didn’t get out much or go very far. I did not have a handle on things.

People need people.

It is simple and true.

And perhaps never more so than when you are parenting young children.

Eventually, we moved again out of the city into a distant suburban/country setting. My husband takes a long train to work. We bought a house. We are settled here.

 I am slowly building a village. I see the same people from place to place. People invite me to do things. My kids are starting to spend time at other people's houses. My oldest son goes to school. I have some friends I could call to watch the kids or help with a flat tire. I know before too long I won't be able to go anywhere without seeing someone I know.

I still miss my first village. My roots there run so deep, but roots can regrow, if they are tenacious enough.

I write this as a thank you to that place.

And also as a reminder to myself to never forget to keep building and cultivating a village around my family.

To remember that I can't do it alone.

That it is okay to say I need help.

Maybe to remind someone else to be grateful for the people that show up in their life every day.

I don't know much about parenting, except I know this one thing.

You need those people more than you think you do.