The Perfect Parent
While growing up, I never saw myself as “parenting material.” I avoided babysitting because, to be honest, it bored me, and I wasn’t good at it. The few times I tried, calamities occurred, like accidentally breaking a glass and cutting my thumb while washing dishes. Then, in my mid-twenties, I experienced an overwhelming desire to start a family. Though concerned about my lack of experience, I thought I could become a pro by reading books. After devouring several excellent parenting resources, I felt ready.
Unfortunately, I soon learned that none of those books came close to preparing me for the reality of raising children. None of them even prepared me for the first week.
After a difficult delivery, I went home with a new baby boy who refused to eat more than a small amount at a time, slept in 20-minute increments (if he slept at all), and fussed frequently. My exhausted brain could barely focus on my needs, let alone the needs of this tiny, hungry baby who couldn’t communicate what was wrong.
A week after we came home from the hospital, my husband returned to work, and my mom went home to another state. Left to my own devices with our new family member, with very little sleep and no idea what to do, I felt increasingly depleted. One evening, my husband returned from work to find me crying on the bed in the dark, holding the baby, who was also wailing. I had tried everything in the books, but nothing worked, and I felt like giving up.
My husband took the baby, and of course, he stopped crying immediately. Although that night eventually ended well, the problem continued. My firstborn was sweet and delightful, and I loved him fiercely, but I had expected parenting to be easier.
One day, when I foolishly believed my baby was asleep for a solid nap, I rested on the sofa. As I drifted off into blessed slumber, he suddenly awoke again, screaming. My brain froze, and I stepped outside, half asleep, to gather my thoughts and figure out what to do.
Listening to the birds chirping peacefully outside the house, I felt terrible leaving him crying for those few minutes. But I desperately wanted someone to rescue me – to take over caring for this tiny human I brought into the world. I was unable to figure out my own baby’s needs. My husband was in the midst of his busy season at work, and I was afraid to leave our little boy with anyone else. My family lived far away, and I was worried a sitter wouldn’t be patient with his frequent cries. Plus, I was his mom – I needed to figure out how to care for him and myself simultaneously.
As I stood on the porch, wishing to run away, my brain woke up, and rational thought returned as I listened to the pitiful cries through the screen door. Going to him, I scooped him gently from his crib again, feeling helpless. I thought becoming a mom would make me mature and wise. Instead, I was unsure, insecure, and clueless, hiding on my porch and in dark rooms, crying like the baby I was supposed to nurture wisely.
Over twenty-four years have passed since that day, and I still have moments when I feel like running away. Most recently, I had this familiar feeling during a discussion with my teenager. His energy level rises late at night while mine plummets. I long to stay connected and be available to enjoy these precious, fleeting conversations while he’s still living at home, but sometimes my resources are low, and I should go to bed. Instead, I push past my limits and end up regretting it.
After the conversation ended poorly, I wished I had handled the situation differently. As I lay in my bed, frustrated with myself, I felt like the same immature, inexperienced parent who left my firstborn crying in his crib while I listened to birds in the backyard all those years ago.
But my resource bag had grown. I had learned a few things since my earliest parenting days, so I turned to God rather than relying wholly on myself this time. I asked for His help, grace, wisdom, patience, and forgiveness. Then I went to sleep.
The next night, when my son and I landed back in the same discussion, we had a productive conversation.
Despite having four kids who have been relatively easy to raise and having only one child living at home, I still feel poured out sometimes. In those moments, I want someone else to be the parent, solve the problem, share the lesson, drive the carpool, fix the meal, or make the decision. I don’t always act like the parent I aspire to be during those times. I forget that, like my kids, I am maturing too.
Feeling depleted didn’t make me a bad parent when my first child was born, and making mistakes with my fourth child over two decades later doesn’t make me a failure. They make me a human parent, but one who thought I would be better at raising kids. Although I never expected to be the perfect parent, I didn’t expect to be so imperfect.
It took me a long time to realize that perfection isn’t the goal and is impossible on Earth anyway. The closest I can come is remembering that there is only one Perfect Parent. I am just a parent who is being perfected. The wisest thing I can do in raising kids is stick close to Him and cooperate with His work, not only in my children but in me.
“Let us fix our eyes on Jesus, the author and perfector of our faith, who for the joy set before Him endured the cross, scorning its shame, and sat down at the right hand of the throne of God. Consider him who endured such opposition from sinful men so that you will not grow weary and lose heart.” Hebrews 12: 2-3
What have been your most challenging moments or seasons as a parent? How have you gotten through them, and how did they change you? Have you ever turned to God for support as a parent? How does He come alongside you in your parenting journey? Are there areas of concern now in your relationship(s) with your child(ren) that you could turn over to Him?