I’m not the type of parent who spends hours on the floor, immersed in a game of My Little Pony. I don’t dedicate my weekends to constructing elaborate worlds in Minecraft. Pokémon? That’s a world I’ve never ventured into and likely never will. I acknowledge my shortcomings in this area of parenting.
I’m grateful for my partner, Alex, who thrives in the realm of animated shows and video games. It warms my heart to see him and the kids tossing a football in the yard—only in the yard, mind you. (Throwing balls indoors is a no-go.) Their laughter fills the air as they wrestle and play together.
But I’m just not that kind of parent.
Once, I was a young expectant mother, filled with excitement and fear, resolute in my intention to bring you into the world and love you fiercely. I was a single mother to two boys, juggling long work hours while still finding time to throw dance parties, belting out tunes alongside them, our laughter echoing as loudly as the music. Even before your arrival, I indulged in cherry cheesecake just to witness your movements—because, really, who can resist cheesecake?
The moment I laid eyes on you, I knew you would hold my heart forever. With two more little ones joining our family, my love expanded to envelop all of you. As a baby, I was the parent who stayed awake, captivated by your tiny form snuggled against me. Now, when I see you sleeping, I still envision you in those adorable footie pajamas, wispy hair and dark lashes resting against your perfect skin.
I was the one rocking you through sleepless nights, soothing you with gentle pats and shushing sounds when you cried. I worried over every bruise and scraped knee, kissing each boo-boo with care. I spent endless hours in waiting rooms for casts and bandages—safety scissors, indeed. I was the parent holding your hand tightly during preschool tours. I transitioned to online classes just to be available for you.
I’m the one signing school notes, checking homework, and preparing lunches. I tackle medical appointments and parent-teacher meetings. I’ve worn thrift store clothes for years to ensure you have outfits that are “in style,” apparently crafted by the hands of famous athletes.
I’m the one who cracks silly jokes and sings off-key, all in the name of making you smile. Those smiles are treasures I wouldn’t trade for anything in the world.
Yet, there are times when I feel like I’m falling short.
I live with chronic recurring depression, generalized anxiety disorder, and PTSD. I endure chronic migraines and pain, and I see more doctors than I like to admit. (Honestly, I can’t remember the last time I visited a hairstylist, but you have one scheduled tomorrow.)
Every day is a struggle to manage the tasks that create a “normal” life for you. I do your laundry, even when it means taking a break to catch my breath. I ensure the bills get paid so you can enjoy a hot shower. I clip your nails and remind you to wear deodorant.
I’m also the parent who forgets things—though not the significant moments like birthdays or holidays, despite a few instances where the Tooth Fairy left notes instead of cash. I may forget the details of your gaming achievements, like that time you scored 58 touchdowns and possibly spawned a chicken, but I remember the important things.
I can read your emotions at a glance, listening to your joys and sorrows, even if I can’t recall the names of your favorite ponies or sports stats.
I’m the parent who wants to conquer your challenges and defend you against anyone who might hurt you.
However, I often find myself too weary to prepare dinner, allowing you an unwholesome amount of macaroni and pizza rolls. I have piles of clean laundry that sit untouched because my arms ache too much to fold them. I can feel overwhelmed easily, needing to retreat when life becomes too demanding. Sometimes, I find myself crying in the bathroom, worried that I’ve let you down.
I’m the one who lies awake at night, consumed with thoughts about your well-being. I wish I could bottle up all your hugs and “I love yous” to pull out on days when we’re navigating stormy emotions.
You are my children, the bright lights that save me daily. I’m the parent striving to be the guardian you deserve, even if I’m not the playful one you might want.
For more insights on navigating parenting and home insemination, check out this other blog post. For resources on artificial insemination, visit Cryobaby, an authority on the subject. Additionally, IVF Babble is an excellent source for information on pregnancy and home insemination.
In summary, while I may not be the playful parent who engages in every game, I am deeply committed to nurturing and loving my children in every way I can.
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