At 8:30 this morning, I was sitting at my parents’ kitchen table wearing a comfy sundress. Emily babbled to my mother in the next room, and steaming coffee and a toasted, buttered bagel sat next to my laptop. As my sweet student and wonderful coworker joined my Zoom call, I paused for a moment to take in this perfect moment. After quite the unusual morning, I was especially grateful.
We are deep in the 8-month sleep regression. Poor Emily is getting her 3rd tooth, and she’s in so much pain it breaks my heart. She’s also started trying to crawl in her sleep, and she frequently wakes up panicked and crying as she rocks back and forth on all fours. Typically, popping her pacifier back in her mouth and gently rubbing her back helps her fall back to sleep quickly, and it worked as she woke up almost hourly from 1 to 5 in the morning. Since Andrew can actually sleep through fire alarms (true story, but luckily it was a false alarm) and I wake up if a bunny outside sneezes, I wake up with Emily each time she fusses. I was grateful for how easily she fell back to sleep throughout the night, but at 5, I unsuccessfully attempted to soothe her back to sleep 4 times before giving up. By then, I was awake anyway, so I pulled her from her pack and play and brought her to her bedroom for a fresh diaper. Gloria met me at the bedroom door and followed us over to the changing pad, which is now on the floor since Emily is happiest there. As I changed Emily’s diaper, she fell back to sleep. Gloria gently patted her head and hand with her paw as I zipped up her pajamas. Then I headed to the comfiest couch in the house for an hour of uninterrupted cat and baby snuggles and reading time.
The hour passed way too quickly, and before I knew it, it was time to get ready for the day. Since Andrew and I are working at the same time this summer, we broke our quarantine bubble and allowed my parents, the only people I know who have been quarantining more strictly than we have, to watch Emily. I dressed Emily in the cutest dress I could find, so excited for the beautiful pictures I knew my mother would take while I worked. We hugged Andrew goodbye, I grabbed the diaper bag and reached out to unlock our front door when I heard a horrible sounds -an ominous burp followed by a loud splat. Emily had spit up all over her pretty pink dress, her leg, my dress, the door, the floor, and our boot tray. A cartoon bubble of curse words floated out over my head as I calmly made sure Emily was okay after her indigestion, washed her leg, changed her dress, changed my dress, and cleaned the door, floor, and boot tray. We left 10 minutes late, but overall, I felt like we were still on track.
After some great country songs and pop culture trivia on the radio, some happy babbles from Emily, and a particularly pleasant drive where I only got cut off once, I arrived at my parents’ house only 3 minutes later than planned. My little nugget was fast asleep in her car seat, and as I pulled her out and hugged her, I realized her little bloomers were wet, and they had soaked a section of my dress as well. Being a new mom, I’ve been peed on at least 8 times in the last 8 months, so my plan was to wash it off after I put Emily in a new, clean outfit (her 3rd of the day). I placed Emily gently on the changing pad, asked my mom to hold her in place while I grabbed a fresh diaper and wipes, and then glanced down at the wet patch of my dress. To my horror, in the middle of the massive wet circle was a yellowish-brown smudge. I had not just been peed on. When I hugged my sleepy little Emily, I had accidentally squeezed poop out of her diaper and onto my dress.
By now, it was 8:15. My first Zoom session of the day was in 15 minutes. I had nothing to wear because although I typically pack 2 back-up outfits for Emily, it never occurred to me to pack one for myself. Lesson learned, I will be leaving at least 4 outfits at my parents’ house and keeping at least 1 in the diaper bag from now on. Despite the fact that I’m a 30-year-old functioning adult, there are definitely moments where I still need my parents to take care of me. And in this moment, they sprang into action. My dad, in the middle of a 3.5 hour virtual training, brewed me a coffee and toasted my bagel. My mom ran upstairs to her closet to try to find something in my size, and luckily, her stretchy summer sundresses would fit literally anyone comfortably. Thanks to them, Emily and I were both happy and clean in plenty of time for my first student of the day.
I’m always grateful for my parents. My mom is potentially the most supportive human on the planet. She can see anyone’s perspective on any side of any issue and always encouraged us to keep an open mind and do the same. She literally won’t hurt a fly (she rescues them with paper cups and paper plates). If someone cuts her off in traffic, she says we don’t know if they’re on their way to visit a loved one in the hospital. When we were stressed out in school, she offered us mental health days filled with our favorite treats. The only time she’s ever hostile is if she feels someone has wronged me or my brother. She hosted “Cookie Fridays” for me and my friends, brings our very complicated extended family together to celebrate every possible holiday, and is always there for a long chat to help us sort through our crises of the day. Loyalty and compassion are her strongest attributes. If you’ve never listened to “The Best Day” by Taylor Swift, please do. This song perfectly captures a lifetime of love and support from my mother.
My father believes good food and direct conversation can solve anything, and for the most part, it has. Over the years, we’ve met for countless breakfasts, lunches, dinners, and snacks and discussed every major decision I’ve made in my entire life. He may be 61, but he’s still basically a puppy and wants nothing more than to be outside playing games or going for walks, which I’ve absorbed as my coping skills too. I’ve taken out my frustration on thousands of his wiffleball pitches (he throws a perfect low, slightly outside fastball every time since they’re my favorite) and made plans to attain personal and professional goals over hundreds of miles of walks.
My parents have fundamental differences. My mom will take my side in nearly any issue I share with her, whereas my dad will provide blunt perspective and tell me if I’m being overdramatic. I’ve learned to go to my mom when I need unwavering support and my dad when I need a reality check. Together, they make the perfect team, and I would genuinely be lost without them. I love that I can go back to their house any time, dig through their fridge for a snack, sit in my favorite chair in the sunny backyard, and know I will be welcomed and feel loved. I love that when Andrew took a trip to see his extended family when I was 5 months pregnant, my dad picked me up each morning and he and my mom spent the day with me. We told them I was pregnant the day after I found out. We both had the flu, and we planned to wait until we could get them cute grandparent gifts, but they insisted on bringing us Gatorade, soup, and Advil and seeing their smiles, I couldn’t hold it in anymore. When I sprained my ankle back in February, my mom watched Emily while my dad helped me hobble around, took me to the doctor, and taught me how to use my crutches.
I love the confidence and reassurance they gave me as I grew up because it has stayed with me through all of the challenges of my personal and professional life. It’s enabled me to fight for the things I want and need to be happy, to take risks and grow in my career, and to try new, sometimes scary moments of adulthood without worrying about failure because I know that no matter what happens, I have the strongest support system right in my own backyard.
Last summer, I read Rachel Hollis’s Girl, Wash Your Face. Her wisdom is profound, and I would recommend this book to literally everyone because there is so much to be learned from what she has to say. In each chapter, she debunks a lie we tell ourselves and helps us build confidence. I cruised through the chapters, internalizing lesson after lesson, until I hit Chapter 12, entitled “The Lie: I Need to Make Myself Smaller.” In it, Rachel describes a motivational speech she attended in which the speaker asked two questions: “Which parent did you crave love from more?” and “Who did you have to be for them?” She clarifies, “What did you believe as a child that you needed to do to receive that parents’ love?” I had to put the book down for a moment. In each of the previous chapters, I devoured the wisdom she offered, feeling my confidence grow. But this chapter was different. For once, the lesson I learned was different than the one she intended. The truth is, I never craved love from either one of my parents. The love was just always there in the same way there were always snacks in the snack cabinet, bagels on Saturday mornings, presents under the Christmas tree, and cozy blankets by the couches. It was something I took for granted because it was always so apparent in nearly every moment of the day, like the way my mom told me at least a dozen times a day that she loved me or my dad gave me a bear hug when he got home from work. I never had to be anything other than myself, and I never believed I had to do anything for them to love me. They just always did, and I knew they always would. So instead of analyzing a lie I’d been telling myself for nearly 3 decades, I felt incredibly grateful that I never felt the need to earn my parents’ love.
Someday, when Emily is 30, I hope she feels the same way. I hope my home always feels like her home and that it is a safe and happy place for her to go no matter what is going on in her life. I hope I’m picking her up for spur of the moment Saturday breakfasts and helping her make a plan to accomplish her latest goal. I want her to call me in a rage when she’s angry so I can be angry with her. I want her to know I will have her back whenever she needs me, but I also want her to have the confidence to fight her battles on her own. Most importantly, I want her to know that no matter how old she gets, it’s still okay to need your mom and dad sometimes. I know I definitely do, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.
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