It’s December 2015, and my life feels like it’s been completely transformed. Our tiny premature baby, weighing just four and a half pounds, is nestled in her makeshift bedroom—our breakfast nook—surrounded by boxes we haven’t unpacked yet. Every little sound she makes sends my nerves into overdrive. I worry for both of us; I’m anxious about never making friends with other parents and lamenting the life my husband and I once had. Everything shifts in an instant.
“Don’t fret,” say the Mothers—the collective group of moms, from Facebook contacts to friends’ mothers and older women from my workplace. “It gets easier, I promise.”
Fast forward to March 2019, and yet another change comes swiftly. This time, there’s more joy and less stress, but adjusting to our new family dynamic remains a challenge. We try to overcompensate with our older daughter to maintain her routine, but the household energy has shifted. She questions why we can’t all read together at bedtime anymore and wonders when her sister will recognize her. Meanwhile, I’m stuck in an endless cycle of washing bibs.
The Mothers assure me, “Two is definitely more challenging than one, but it will get easier.” Now, these Mothers include actual friends who are parents, laughing with me about the chaos of forgetting how to secure an infant car seat.
In many ways, it does get simpler. I can sleep through the night. We’ve settled into a house with real rooms, and we have a supportive community. We’ve established routines, schedules, and even childcare, giving us precious moments to recharge. Our children express their affection for one another, and I can show them love without constant worry.
Yet, I find myself offering the same assurances to new moms. Just last weekend, I spoke to a weary mother at a beer garden, her newborn peacefully asleep beside her. She smiled at my girls and shared details about her 14-week-old’s sleep schedule—oh, I totally understand. Before I realized it, I found myself saying, “It gets easier, I promise.” I wanted to lift her out of the newborn chaos, knowing she will eventually reclaim her sense of self.
However, in many respects, that promise feels empty. As my daughters, especially my soon-to-be kindergartener, grow older, I’m learning that the challenges have evolved. Potty training and sleep regressions seem trivial compared to the new logistical, intellectual, and emotional hurdles we face.
Her interests are blossoming, which is fantastic, but I have to navigate them alongside my work commitments. We can’t pursue every activity, especially those that require commitment like tennis or dance. She needs practice and confidence, even through mistakes. While I can help her, I’m realizing that she needs more of my presence than ever.
Her personality is also shifting—she’s testing boundaries. At day camp this summer, she’s moved up a group, surrounded by older girls and teenage counselors. She’s sometimes rude or defiant, looking me straight in the eye as she disregards my instructions. I know she’s just trying to figure things out but it’s not easy to accept this side of her. We’ve had to rethink how we approach discipline, and the right answers aren’t always clear.
As much as I want to impose consequences, I can see her mirroring my own traits. She is anxious, striving for perfection and being hard on herself when she falls short. She’s a deep thinker with questions that often exceed her years. She craves attention yet shies away from it. These characteristics aren’t merely learned; they are intrinsic to who she is.
Perhaps most daunting of all is the fact that she is always watching. She observes my reactions and the way my husband and I communicate. The weight of this realization hits me: my daughters will model their lives after me—or they won’t. Either way, the responsibility feels heavier now. I’m trying to be more generous, kind, and become a better version of myself for their sake.
Sooner than I realize, Hazel will transition into a tween and then a teen. She’ll be able to meet her own needs, but her challenges may expand beyond merely disliking frozen meatballs for dinner. Even if I continue to guide her, I will have less control. I can only hope she makes the right choices during difficult times. The anticipation of that moment is daunting.
In my experience with both daughters, every time I’ve reached a breaking point, the challenge has eventually subsided. Just as life settles into a new rhythm and I convince myself that it has indeed gotten easier, a fresh challenge arises.
Let’s stop telling new mothers that it gets easier. It’s an unfair promise for the toughest job in the world. We merely grow more adept at navigating it, becoming increasingly prepared for the changes ahead.
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Summary
Parenthood doesn’t necessarily become easier; instead, we learn to adapt and improve our skills in handling the challenges that arise. As children grow, the trials evolve from physical tasks to more complex emotional and logistical issues. Parents must navigate these changes while being mindful of their influence on their children’s development. The journey of parenting is not about promises of ease but rather about growing alongside our children and becoming better equipped for the ongoing challenges.
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