Raising These Boys

I'm in my kitchen with my back turned to them. I don't know what they're doing, but their little voices sound slightly muffled. O is giggling softly (as he often does), and F is squealing loudly (as he often does). They are perfect. 

AND

18 hours ago I was in that same room when that all-too-familiar feeling of an elephant sitting on my chest and my lungs being too big for my body gripped me. Motherhood be like that sometimes. 

It's crazy being responsible for other lives. They're like little soft-headed blobs that toddle around climbing on stuff and eating whatever you leave on the ground. And you're 100% accountable for their development, health, safety, and happiness. 

When O was a baby, he was lactose intolerant. He was a constant spitter and because it didn't worry our pediatrician, it didn't worry me. It wasn't until he turned one and started projectile vomiting every time he had dairy that we realized the real issue. And I was just hit with this CRUSHING realization that I had subjected him to a whole year of pain because he was getting dairy directly from me and I didn't know better. 

I feel like that's a microcosm of motherhood. I know I'm doing my best but I don't know if that's good enough. 

As O starts to develop, I'm seeing some real first-child characteristics. He's so dang smart, he loves learning, he gets gratification from achievement, and he has some anxious tendencies. I love all those things about him - they're so authentic. He is in a pure state. I'm just worried that I will eventually contribute somehow to the development of something negative. 

When I get mad at him, am I developing some kind of message in him that he's not good enough? Am I responding appropriately to his endless stream of questions? Am I coddling him? Am I deserting him? Do I feed him too much sugar? When I tell him to wash his hands every time we go to a park am I developing in him a fear of germs? 

I know in my head that the most important thing for my kids is that they know without question that they are loved. 

My two best friends in high school had problems at home. It wasn't obvious, and I'll never know the extent of it. I couldn't see it then, but as an adult, I can look back on those children and see that there was a question of whether or not they were completely loved by two parents. I can see now how that affected them. Whatever my parents did or did not do, I always knew that. I never had any doubt. I'm glad I can see now how lucky I am for that. 

I digress, I know that love is the most important thing. But it's hard not to think of all those other little things when I'm literally trapped inside with them making a million decisions about them every single day. 

I don't know where this is going or what the point is. I just love these little boys and I'm worried I'm going to mess them up. 


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