You always give yourself away, by the way you smile at me and my young children. Your eyes soften and for a split second, I can see you swimming in a flood of memories. It’s usually a blended look of, “I miss when my kids were that age” and “Good God, I don’t miss that!”
Either way, I just want to say thank you.
Thank you for compassionately connecting your eyes with mine, offering silent understandings and acknowledgment that I am doing the best I can, when I’m about to lose my shit in public. You laugh at my last ditch efforts to keep my kids from melting in the check out aisle, with food I haven’t even paid for yet. I can always count on a kind, “I’ve been there, honey!” from you.
Thank you for telling me my babies are beautiful, even when my daughter has smears of grape jelly still upside her face from lunch and my son’s hair is standing on its curly ends, because I’m too much of a wuss to make him sit through a hair cut he despises. I never have to follow up your compliments with an excuse as to why my children may appear unkempt. You get it.
Thank you for giving my children your own version of the Mom look when you see me disciplining them, instead of treating the situation as a bother or act of endangerment. You don’t ignore the fact that it truly takes a village, and that is truly appreciated.
Thank you for noticing when my kids are polite and use their manners. We younger Moms always seem to be trying to convince ourselves that we don’t absolutely suck at this job. When you compliment them, you’re really complimenting me. I’m pretty sure you know that already, and that’s why you do it. What you may not realize is how much of a positive effect it has on me. Perhaps you missed how much taller I stood, after you walked away.
Be it Moms of friends, older women I’ve worked with or complete strangers I run in to, women who have already raised their children always seem to put me at ease. You always manage to remind me I’m only human, which is very much needed these days. When you share, what you thought at the time, was your own epic parenting failures, it gives me hope that I’m not screwing up my kids as bad as I think I am. The fact that you share a laugh with me when telling your stories, and you’re not in a rubber room drooling all over yourself, also gives me hope.
Your hindsight always seems to put Motherhood in to perspective, and reminds me that maybe I am better at raising my kids than Google. Somehow a conversation with you lacks the judgment often felt when talking to Mother’s my own age. I can’t explain that one and even hate admitting it, but it’s so often present.
So please, don’t shy away from saying what your eyes are shouting, when you see me with my young children. You’re not bothering me. I’m always in too much of a hurry anyway. I promise I won’t complain when you tell me to “enjoy it”. The fast pace in which it all goes, comes through loud and clear, every time we meet.
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W.T.F. 