I found myself at a birthday celebration for a one-year-old, surrounded by old college friends, when one of them casually asked, “How are you doing?”
“It’s really tough,” I admitted, surprised by the tremor in my voice and the tears threatening to spill over, “because I just can’t seem to make my baby happy.”
He looked at me with a raised eyebrow. “It’s not your job to make him happy,” he replied.
Inwardly, I scoffed at my childfree friend’s perspective. What did he know about parenting? How could I not be responsible for my four-month-old’s joy? After all, I had longed for motherhood through countless fertility treatments. Perhaps the pressure came from the parenting books that preach happiness: The Happiest Baby on the Block, Healthy Sleep Habits, Happy Child, and Brain Rules for Baby: How to Raise a Smart and Happy Child from Zero to Five. Or maybe it was the pervasive American fixation on happiness that had seeped into my psyche.
Jennifer Senior’s 2014 book, All Joy and No Fun: The Paradox of Modern Parenting, highlights the confusion many parents experience about their roles. In today’s world, we’ve delegated many traditional parenting responsibilities: schools teach academics, doctors provide care, and farmers grow our food. What, then, is left for parents to do?
As a first-time mom to a particularly fussy baby, I was grappling with what motherhood meant to me. My primary goal had become ensuring my son’s happiness.
Colicky, challenging, spirited—these descriptors fit my son perfectly. Experts claim that colic typically subsides in the first three months, but my son clearly didn’t adhere to this timeline. Until he was 15 months old, he cried daily for no apparent reason.
He despised being placed in his car seat but equally loathed being taken out. He resisted face washing and diaper changes, and would be irritable in my arms, despite occasional smiles and laughter. Overall, he didn’t seem very happy at all, and I was feeling pretty miserable myself.
By the time he was eight months old, I had my first inkling that my childless friend might actually be onto something. My son had been born with blocked tear ducts that required a doctor to insert stainless steel rods to open them. Although the procedure wasn’t particularly painful, it was undeniably frightening for him. I could hear his screams from the waiting room, and when we were reunited, he clung to me tightly.
“How did you make sure he wasn’t traumatized for life?” my mother asked when I relayed the story.
I felt a wave of guilt wash over me. I had failed to shield my son from this experience, reinforcing my belief that I was incapable of making him happy.
During a weekly mothers’ group I attended, I vented about my guilt and sadness. “A parent’s job isn’t to protect your child from negative experiences,” the therapist explained. “It’s about guiding them through those challenges so they can learn to navigate them independently.”
In that moment, everything changed. I realized that my purpose as a mother shouldn’t revolve around eliminating my son’s tears but rather equipping him with resilience—a concept gaining traction in both psychology and parenting realms that emphasizes the ability to withstand life’s difficulties.
This new focus on resilience transformed my parenting approach and my mental well-being. I began teaching my son adaptability—showing him that life doesn’t always meet our desires, whether it’s enduring diaper changes or doctor visits.
By prioritizing my own needs, I also set boundaries. While my son wanted me to be his constant playmate, I had to demonstrate that I needed time to eat dinner in peace. I even gained the confidence to enroll him in part-time daycare, allowing both of us to experience some separation anxiety while giving me space to pursue my passion for environmental communications. Just two days a week dedicated to writing articles and press releases—rather than fretting over tantrums and nap times—left me feeling rejuvenated and more patient with my son.
I began to rediscover my own identity, feeling like a competent mother teaching my child valuable lessons about resilience. I was finding happiness, even if my son wasn’t always the “Happiest Toddler on the Block” (yes, another parenting book title).
One morning, while driving home from grocery shopping when he was two, my son asked, “Mommy, Daddy was a boy and now he a man?”
“Yes, sweetheart,” I replied.
“And I a boy now and then I be a man?” he continued.
“Yes, that’s right.”
“Ahhh, I don’t want to be a man. I want to be a boy forever!”
“Why do you want to stay a little boy?” I inquired.
“Because I love it,” he said.
Despite my worries and anxieties, it turned out that my spirited little boy was, in fact, happy. Most likely because I had finally found my own happiness too.
For more insights on parenting and fertility, check out this article on fertility boosters for men or explore the at-home insemination kit to learn more about your options. If you’re interested in starting your family, this resource on what to expect with your first IUI is a great place to begin.
Summary:
Through the journey of motherhood, I learned that my primary role is not to ensure my child’s happiness but to help him develop resilience. By letting go of the pressure to make my son happy, I discovered my own joy and fulfillment in parenting. This shift in focus allowed me to prioritize both our needs, ultimately leading to a happier dynamic between us.
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