When I pictured parenting as a younger person, I saw only a rough draft, a hazy, rosy picture of myself holding an adorable, content baby. I didn't think much beyond that. I didn't envision squalling newborns awake at 2 a.m., their needs not so easily met, toddlers into everything, the fury and mischievousness of a 3-year-old.
I certainly didn't imagine some of the challenges that would come later: a boy so beset with separation anxiety that he'd throw a huge tantrum every time I tried to leave him anywhere (Paul) or a youngest child whose energy level and impulsivity would cause difficulties at school on a regular basis.
Now my illustration is more nuanced, and I have more realistic expectations, but of course, childrearing keeps offering up new difficulties. Naturally, a lot of these come courtesy of my oldest child, who's schooling us on the agony and ecstasy of raising a tween.
I've recently come to the realization that with Ben, I'm raising a child whose disposition is very much like my own. Like me, he can be mercurial. He's often defiant in the face of parental authority, as was I. And sadly, like me, he's got his share of anxieties.
This past summer, Ben battled with a bout with sleep anxiety. Almost every night, we would hear whimpers and cries of frustration emanating from his room. The refrain was always the same: "I'm so tired, but I can't fall asleep."
After trying lots of solutions, including some sessions with a counselor - he loathed that, Ben's issues seemed to resolve. The routine of school and the sheer exhaustion of a 7:30 a.m. school start brought him back to sleeping well.
These last few nights, though, Ben's anxiety has returned with a vengeance. I feel for him. I've suffered through my own bouts of sleeplessness. Yet even though I know it's completely wrongheaded, it's so easy to slip into the "can't you just get over it?" mindset.
I hate to see Ben suffer. I endured anxiety starting at a young age, and I know how hard it is. As an adult, I have the benefit of having reached full maturity. I can cope much better now. As a kid, I'm sure he feels at the mercy of his inner thoughts and worries. I want to make my boy feel better, but in a lot of ways, I feel helpless to do so.
And then there are the times when Ben just challenges me. Yesterday afternoon, it was approaching the time that I would need to leave to take Ben to his piano lesson. He was still wearing shorts and a t-shirt (another way he inadvertently tortures me, since I would be perfectly comfortable walking around the house in jeans and a parka when it's this cold). I told him he needed to go get dressed and ready.
I walked into Ben's room about 10 minutes later and found him lying prone on his floor, still wearing the shorts and t-shirt. By this point, I was shrill and yelling. "Why aren't you ready?!? Do you know how long it's been?"
"I didn't know I had piano!" Ben whined. "How can I go to piano when it's so cold?" (Because no way could you play piano in your teacher's warm house on the day like this.) Of course, through all of this, I still had to wrangle his brothers into the car, too.
We ended up entrenched in a full-on argument. I told Ben that before he could do anything he enjoyed, he would need to write me a letter of apology. He shot back that there was no way he could do that because he didn't feel the least bit guilty about anything. Ah, the joy of having to look into that smug little face when you're so angry you can hardly stand the sight of it.
By supper, Ben's anger had dissipated; mine, not so much. He chirped happily about the new flat bread recipe I'd tried. I did this very same thing to my mom growing up. I'd be a total beast and then turn back into a normal human being and expect everything to be fine.
After dinner, my annoyance subsided, too. I talked with Ben about what had happened. There was no miraculous attitude turnaround on his part, but I think he began to see my point. After the talk, I had let go requiring him to write me a letter, but he did it anyway.
I've thought about this situation a lot. The most recent parenting book I read urged parents not to play their tween's game or stoop to their level. That can be frightfully hard to do in the heat of the moment. I'm seeing the value in it, though. If I can remain calm in the face of Ben's antics, I can retain my credibility and then try to catch him when he's not entrenched in his own righteousness.
When we talked last night, Ben let on that the winter is getting him down a bit. I told him how important it is to focus on little things to look forward to at times like these. Before he knows it, the weeks will flow by, and spring will have arrived. I suppose that serves as a metaphor for Ben's struggles, too.
Through his strife and worries, I hope Ben can begin to see life for all its pain and joy. The painful parts make the joyful ones seem all the better.
As for me, my full picture of life as a mom continues to fill in. It may be a little messy, but it's also beautiful in its own way for all its detail.
No comments:
Post a Comment