Life as a parent is anything but a walk down a familiar path.
There’s enough of the mundane and predictable in parenting to lull me, at times, into thinking I can predict the future.
But the unexpected hits all the time, from the joyful surprise - pb&j&scrambled eggs for breakfast in bed, anyone? - to the small detours - lunches and homework left on the kitchen table - to the total derailment that illness or accident can bring.
Never knowing what’s around the bend in parenting is a large part of what keeps me sane & present.
Unless it doesn’t.
Take last night, for example. A typical Sunday night. Kids are in bed; my husband and I pack lunches and collect winter gear for school tomorrow, then spend a precious hour catching up, relaxing, and reliving the fun family hike of the afternoon, including the hilarity of mud EVERYWHERE at the end.
We turned in at our usual time. (Ahem. Truth be told, we stayed up later than usual. I think it was 9pm.) Ready for our Monday morning.
And then midnight hits. Hysterical crying from my son’s room. I stumble in, only to hear him shout, “My eyes are bleeding!” Fully awake now, I take a close look – pure saline tears. Phew.
Then I feel his forehead. He’s a furnace.
In that split second, I feel that familiar crumbling of a plan derailed. And I can predict, with frightening accuracy, my train of thought for the next several moments.
First, I watch my plan unravel. My Google work calendar flashes in front of my eyes – who do I need to call? Can I manage to work from home? Too bad I spent 20 minutes last night packing lunches...I could have been using those minutes to bank some sleep.
Then the justifications, bargains, and rationalizations start. It’s not that bad, really…right? How high IS his fever? Would it go away if I simply gave him ibuprofen? Could I get away with sending him to school?
(Side confession: I am a teacher. At the first sign of a student cough, bodily fluid, or fever, I send them right to the nurse. If they show up at the classroom door less than 24 hours fever-free, I send them right back home. As a parent, I am guilty of hiding a minor fever under ibuprofen or falling far short of the 24 hour fever-free rule. I am aware of the hypocrisy of this discrepancy. I am okay with it. I get it from both sides.)
Then, my empathy kicks in. (Why is that the last part of my brain to wake up?) Suddenly, nothing else matters to me but my kid’s health. I go into hyper-care mode – advil, cool washcloths, ice water, and snuggles – and work unraveling mode – sub plans, emails to rearrange meetings.
Mind you, this is a less than 30 second thought process. One that is far outside my control at that hour of the night and at that low level of wakefulness. I’ve just been here, done this enough now to recognize, acknowledge, and bear witness to this train of thought. It’s the same every time. Awareness, Denial, Bargaining, and, finally, Acceptance.
Acceptance. There’s a sick boy in front of me who deserves and needs his mom’s care. And that’s me. No matter what else I had planned for the day, this is indeed my most important job. To him, it matters that I am there to comfort him.
And so I settle in his bed next to him, my arm around him when he wants, giving him space when he gets too hot. We both doze on and off through the next five hours. The morning finally comes, with nothing else to do but keep snuggling.
I used to beat myself up for this thought process with questions like: how could I possibly think about sending my son to school sick? What’s the big deal about being absent from work for a few days – the world doesn’t revolve around you!
And then a dear friend shared that she goes through a similar series of emotions whenever her kids get sick. (Ahhh, the power of parents sharing to normalize these things we all think we’re doing wrong). I realized that this is simply a natural human process when the unexpected arrives.
As much as I try to be fully present, part of me plans ahead and those plans keep me sane. Until they fall apart. My goal is to move into acceptance of that moment as quickly as possible, and I CAN’T do that without visiting all those stages in between, no matter how briefly. So now I know to plan on those moments of denial and bargaining, watch them happen, then let them go.
And then snuggle in with my son.