Tag: competitions

I’ve been thinking.

Thinking about all the blather I spew to parents of newbies about the dreaminess of life on this side of infancy.  About how parenting older kids is a walk in the park where that park doesn’t insist you follow slippery tots in and out of sand piles and up and down ladders and slides.

It is true.  Most days are just easier now that they’re grown.  But then I’ll go and do something dumb, like remembering when they looked like this

Back when I could bind them up in a cotton burrito and hold them close

So sweet.  So unaware that just a few years down the road lurk life lessons hungry to bite them in their unsuspecting little tushies.

Not that I’m against life lessons.  They are, no doubt, vital stepping stones on the path towards becoming well-adjusted human beings.

Scratch that.

I hate life lessons.  They are big and mean and hurtful and I want them to go away.

I do not want them sneaking up, threatening to snatch away my girls’ dreams in the name of building character.

I hate character.

Why can’t childhood just be a succession of blissful little images of quiet innocence?

You know, the way it is in my selective memory.

All I took was a few tentative steps down baby lane and now I’m a total wreck.  I am awash in images of days that sped by

Days in which achieving perfection in mama’s eyes alone was enough

But they are content no more.  They have turned their noses up at pacifiers and swaddling blankets and this decidedly lop-sided opinion I’ve got of them.  They have moved on to challenges that will no doubt prepare them for life and destroy my sanity.

How will I protect them when they insist on heading out into the cruel world to be judged by strangers on merits alone when they could stay home with me and bask in my tales of their brilliance and talent?

What if they go out there and do not succeed?

What if they are crushed with disappointment despite working determinedly towards a singular goal?

There is no certified program for soothing big kids.

No book of miracles beyond the swaddle and gentle bouncing.

There is no 5-point harness to shield them from the shocks delivered by mean girls or tough breaks or tournaments with undesirable outcomes.

They want to compete.  And my baby-no-more wants to be judged, not by jaded parents or gushing grandparents, but by an objective panel.  And she wants to come out on top.

I am proud of her.  Of her lofty goals and her determination and hard work.  On paper, I will spout that win or lose there are valuable life lessons to be learned.

Blech.  Life lessons.

I hate life lessons.