Awkward Mom vs. My Perfect Path

So, I have had 3 C-sections and 2 Vaginal births. Pop quiz: which is which?

No fair guessing if you were there, Awkward Dad....

Who had formula? Who slept through the night at 6 weeks? Who used the cloth diapers? Who did we send to preschool in a pull-up? Who read at 3 years old? Who still struggles to read? Who ate homemade baby food? Who had Gerber out of a jar? Who didn't have solids until 10 months old? Who didn't lose a tooth until Kindergarten? Who lost 4 teeth the first week of summer? Who gets scared at sleep-overs? Who's run away? Who had night terrors? Who often goes to bed at midnight? Who sneaks Pringles into the closet and eats them? Who had to drink Ensure to gain weight? Who still can't walk? (I thought I'd throw you a gimme there.)

You can't tell. It doesn't show. All you see is a pile of beautiful kids who would much rather be watching Story Bots and enjoying the last precious moments of summer than posing for their mother's rather unhealthy photography habit.

My point is this: I walked (OK, waddled) into Super Oldest birth with a birth plan that I thought was pretty reasonable: "Everything will be fine as long as we don't have a C-section." Well, we promptly had an emergency C-section that saved my baby's life. I banned princess toys until my son developed a love of storytelling. I refused to buy new shoes until my second child couldn't walk without specialized footwear. I forbid devices but then the school discovered that Super 3rd Grader was reading a lot easier with access to the games on the iPad. I made my own baby food until I decided I would rather spend that time playing with my kids. And watching Netflix. But mostly playing with my kids....while watching Netflix....

But you can't tell. I mean, you can tell because I told you. Because I have a big mouth and don't like secrets. But if you just saw the Supers, you wouldn't see anything but the magical people they are and are becoming. You wouldn't see any of the messy paths that led there or the messy, awkward mom that they dragged off her own path to get there. OK, you might see her. She doesn't hide well.

Perfectionism and I are old foes. I constantly struggle with my desire to make the process as lovely as the end result. This is not an easy way to parent. It isn't an easy way to live. And it's an impossible way to live if you are living with other people. People who have their own journeys and processes that weave with yours on a messy shared romp through the life-forest.

My children. Your children. Our children. That's what we call them. For ease, identification, sentence structure; all the delights that pronouns offer. But the reality is that they aren't anyone's. They are human beings, independent and autonomous with ways that we will never truly understand. They aren't really ours at all. We get to borrow them for awhile. A long while. The longests of all the mammals. 18 summers to run after them through the sand. 18 winters of cuddles and scarves. 18 springs to stomp in puddles and freeze at soccer games and watch the new dandelions pop up overnight like magic. 18 falls of Halloween costumes and new teachers and friendship fights and leaf-crunching laughter ringing in a wind alive with anticipation. 18 precious birthdays. 18 years of learning to treasure interests that aren't yours; dinosaurs and baseball and rocks and Pokemon and ballet and 3147 Disney princesses. 18 years of walking paths that are not yours.

And then they leave? I don't know. No one has left yet. But they will someday and then I can have my path back. My path through the life-forest might stop branching off into a thousand side journeys that I didn't plan on. Perfectionism and I can hold hands again as we march straight and steady through the perfect process that I planned. My Path. My Perfect Path that I don't have to share anymore.

But maybe not. Maybe I won't want that anymore. Maybe I will have learned something by sharing my life with other lives. Maybe I will learn that letting go of control isn't half as scary as I thought it would be. Maybe I will learn that I don't own all the great ideas, that they aren't all mine. Maybe I will learn that sometimes babies know where the best views are, just beyond these trees you think you can't climb. Maybe I will learn that I can. I can climb all the trees I want. I can go anywhere I want. All I have to do is step off the Perfection Path and try.

Her path looks more fun anyway.