I hate parenting.
I know. You’re all thinking it though. You hate it too.
Why does it have to be so hard?
When I first learned I was pregnant with my first child, I fell to my knees and cried. I was only 24. I wasn’t ready for a baby!
I was so wrong. Sleepless nights, explosive diapers and endless crying was so easy. I can say that now because I am not in the midst of it. Those days were a breeze! I can totally handle a baby.
But I didn’t get a baby. I got a person! That baby has a personality, an attitude and mood swings.
I tell people all the time that I prayed to have boys. I wanted boys so bad. Growing up with brothers, I was used to the rough and tumble, the noise and the smelly socks. Boys are straightforward and come without all the d-r-a-m-a. Their fiances pay for the wedding and there is no cute hashtag for us moms with girls. (#BoyMom much)?
God laughs when you make plans. So, he gave me two beautiful girls.
Don’t get me wrong. I LOVE my girls. #GirlMom
I love when they want to talk about the boys, when they ask me to blow-dry their hair and when I get the sweetest texts in the middle of the day. I love to shop with them and cook with them. I love to talk about their dreams and watch their eyes as they dance with thoughts of their future. I even love their celebrity crushes and can remember how it felt when my own favorite boy band came on the radio.
I just hate parenting.
It hurts too much. And Mom, if you are reading this, you were right. It really does hurt me more than it hurts them. There. Now it’s in writing.
I can change a diaper. I can’t change a failing grade.
I can soothe crying with a pacifier. I can’t mend a broken heart.
I can drive my kid to every activity under the sun until Jesus comes back. I can’t fully let go when they drive out of my driveway.
It boils down to the fact that I just feel helpless. Here I am, the one they have always called to when they scraped their knee or had a bad dream. But now real life is getting in the way of my magic mom powers and I can’t fix everything anymore.
What scares me even more is that, as teenage girls, I am sure there is more that needs to be fixed than what they are telling me.
I hate it.
So, what’s a mom to do? We’re in this for life.
Each moment builds to the next and stretches out into a beautiful life. My girls aren’t babies any more. And one day they won’t be teenagers either. They will be adults with their own worries and regrets. Hopefully, they won’t be in therapy because of me and the way I handled their teenage years.
So, I pray. I beg God for help and for guidance. For strength and for wisdom. I pray for their dreams to come true and for them to stay healthy. I pray for their minds to be focused on righteous and holy things. I pray for them to make good decisions and for all the stinky boys I wanted so badly to not lead them astray.
It’s still so hard and I still hate it.
But maybe that’s the point? Having teenage girls has done wonders for my prayer life.
When they were babies I prayed over them as I rocked them to sleep. I pray for them now as they pull out of the driveway. I will pray for them as they walk down the aisle and after we hang up from long distance phone calls.
Being a mom means my children always have someone who is praying for them. Their advocate during the tough times and their cheerleader in the good times.
Thinking of it that way helps me realize what a privilege it is and makes me hate it a little less.