I often feel like I have some sort of attention deficit disorder as a parent. It’s difficult for me to focus on my kids for more than a few seconds before my brain starts to wander. Even when Bub is doing something hilarious to get my attention. Even when G is cooing and smiling in my face. As soon as I realize I’m distracted, I feel the guilt swoop in. I’m a horrible mother for not paying attention to my adorable children right in front of me. How could I not see the gifts before my very eyes? The ones that only last a moment before they’re gone, sometimes forever. They’ll only be little for so long. Focus, Linda! Focus! The judgy, anxious, negative thoughts start to cloud my brain, replacing the random distracted ones that were there seconds before.
The older I get, the more memories my brain collects, which means the more memories my brain can wander to. The more I’m with my kids without a break, the more my brain wanders, because I haven’t given it the time and space to wonder. I used to be able to think about anything I wanted without any guilt.
Honestly, I’m not made for this. “This” being parenting. And because I’m not made for this, I don’t think I’m cut out for it. All my life, I’ve let myself think deeply about things that I want to think about - selfishly. When I became an adult, as soon I wanted to do something, I, more often than not, did the thing that I wanted. Perfectly conditioned to be self-centered by my family, my education, the media, and society at large.
As soon as my kids entered the picture, my world shifted to revolving around them. Physically, mentally, emotionally, logistically, financially. It’s a true mindf***. Thirty years of thinking only of myself and all of a sudden, I’m not able to do that anymore? That’s hard.
What, I’m supposed to be able to stare at a baby for hours now? I’m instantly supposed to be able to play make-believe for hours on end? Asking me to do these things when I’ve had time for myself is challenging, let alone having to do them on a day without any breaks. Yet, I feel immense pressure to enjoy it. You’re going to miss it when it’s gone. There’s that inner critic again.
I wish I had gone to “Parenting School” before having kids. This hypothetical school would wake me up at all hours of the night and time me at how fast I could change a diaper. It would teach me all the “Daniel Tiger” songs I’d need to know for any task or emotion. It would quiz me on how to make a proper bottle of formula. I’d get hands-on training on how to safely buckle a toddler in a car seat. And, the final exam would be to do all of this every day for three months straight while the sound of a crying baby played loudly in the background.
One of the most surprising aspects of parenting is, perhaps, how mundane it can be. Repeatedly building blocks, reading board books, and singing “Row Row Row Your Boat” is…boring and mind-numbing. Four years ago, I could travel anywhere I wanted at the drop of a hat. I could go out to restaurants on a whim. I could stay out late without an ounce of guilt. Now the most exciting part of my day is going to bed without crying.
I became a parent without any training. Zero conditioning whatsoever. So, when I start to feel guilty for not being able to focus on playing Baby Skye in a pretend Paw Patrol scenario with Bub because my brain keeps thinking about a work email, an anxious thought, Timothée Chalamet at the Golden Globes, and the rice that can’t boil over on the stove, I’m going to give myself a break.
It’s no question that parenting is relentless, but how do I stay present in the relentlessness? It’ll take practice, discipline, and more mental stamina than I ever could have imagined. Being present is a practice. Being present is a practice. Being present is a practice.
