She walked through the pool gate pushing a stroller loaded down with all the accountrements needed to host little ones for a day in the water. But it wasn’t just the heavy stroller weighing her down. She also had four little appendages– satellites to her orbit– in tow. I recognized the look of a frazzled mother of young children. I had seen it in the mirror.
One thing that used to drive me slap crazy when my brood was little was the older, seasoned mothers who felt it was their duty in life to inform me that the worst was yet to come. They would saunter up to me, pat me on the back, and say “Just wait til they’re teenagers! It gets worse!”
I would look at them with, I’m sure, a look of horror and shock and disbelief. Worse than this? Worse than never sleeping a full night and living in fear of illnesses that mean even less sleep and being a slave to every need these people can think of and having no time for myself and never going anywhere alone– not even the bathroom, and calling it a good day if I get a shower?? It gets worse?? If that was true, I wondered why anyone had children at all? How had the human race not died out?
And so, this past summer when I encountered that young mom at the pool I walked up to her with a big smile on my face. I’d gone for a run that day while my kids entertained themselves at home, because they had finally reached the age where they can do that. I’d showered and taken my time getting dressed because no one needed me to do anything for them. I’d had a great conversation with my teenage daughter about her life and her friends and her plans for the future, feeling honored to have a ringside seat as her life opened up to possibility. My pantry and fridge was stocked because I’d gone to the grocery store, blissfully alone. I had a book in my pool bag that I planned to read while my kids played in the water, happily unattended, no longer needing my constant presence.
“It gets better,” I said to her.
She looked at me, a question on her face. I went on to explain that, when I was in her situation everyone seemed bent on scaring me about the dreaded teen years. And while we’ve had our moments with our teens, it’s not been nearly as bad as the naysayers and doomsday emissaries had tried to prepare me for. It never got worse than those early years when I was a hot mess. It got better. I got my life back and– because I had persevered through those hard, hands-on years of raising little ones– I get to share this new life with these amazing people I’ve brought into the world.
I wanted to offer her some hope just in case other moms had tried to scare her too. I’m not sure it helped her but it sure was nice for me to reflect on where I once was, and where I am now. My years as a mom of little ones nearly drove me crazy. But I’m glad I perservered because what was waiting on the other side was worth every moment.
Marybeth Whalen is the mom of 6 children who alternate between driving her crazy and filling her with joy, sometimes both at once. She has been married to her husband Curt for 21 years. Marybeth writes novels in her “spare” time, the most recent of which is The Guest Book. She also runs She Reads, a site devoted to spotlighting the best in women’s fiction and blogs at www.marybethwhalen.com.