Is it worth it?

Why the good parts of parenting are hard to explain.

Freddie’s wearing Lenn The Label here which was gifted and I adore it.

Over the weekend, I was laying in bed with my son; he was propped up on two pillows, slurping a strawberry yoghurt pouch while watching Paw Patrol, his comfort show he consumes on repeat. I was propped up on the other pillows, reading Lessons in Chemistry by Bonnie Garmus, which I’ve been slowly making my way through. It’s an easy read and one that I’m thoroughly enjoying. Every now and then, he’d break my concentration with bursts of excitement, “Mum, did you see Rubble’s big driller truck? It was awesome!” I’m sure most of you are well acquainted with the members of the Paw Patrol but in case you’re not, Rubble is the cute bulldog who is equally as construction obsessed as Freddie. I respond, “Oh wow that is really cool… what’s he trying to do?” Then we continue to chat about all the different kinds of trucks Rubble has. His smile widens. His entire face lights up when we chat about trucks and what they do, and what kind of truck Rubble will need to save the day. My heart swells.

Freddie is almost three-and-a-half and has always been quite a strong talker. His vocabulary of noises quickly turned into rambles that then went on to form words, and his vocabulary suddenly evolved into full conversations, confessions and stories that I simply can’t get enough of. It’s hard to describe how proud, how happy, how special and priceless these moments are because they mean everything to me, his mother, but all in all, this probably doesn’t sound all that impressive to someone who isn’t a parent, which made me think of all the other things that make motherhood, parenthood ‘worth it’.

These sweet-nothing moments are so personal, in real-time, and unique to us that it’s hard to explain to others who are yet to experience them. Amil Niazi’s latest column for The Cut, titled; What We Never Say About Parenting, captures why it can be hard to explain the delight of being around these crazy little people day in and day out; “It’s one of those parenting things that is difficult to put into words, even with other parents. I could tell you all the sweet, hilarious ways my kids describe the people in their lives or how they say certain things, but it’s not really a story with any discernible shape or rhythm, and besides, you have your own words and inside jokes, and often when we try to exchange them, the real tenderness gets lost in translation.”

These golden times vary from parent to parent and depend on so many circumstances. The beginning can be unravelling because we’re rarely prepared for the monumental shifts. Changes in identity and relationships, birth trauma, body aches, the sleep deprivation, the societal pressure, the loneliness, the hormones, the feeding, and the lack of support – all very real struggles that all mothers endure at least one of, if not all of, and, thus, connect with. It becomes easier to relate to each other, to strangers in the park and online, as we now are part of The Mum Club and all that comes with it. We don’t mind saying “oh I couldn’t jump on that jumping castle” at a child’s birthday party to mother’s who we have only met once at daycare drop-off. We all get it. We understand and empathise. Then again, the hazy beginning can be the simplest part for some, and take to their new role seamlessly. Then as the years roll by, they start to reminisce the newborn days, wishing for the cuddles, the stillness and quiet as they enter the chaos of toddlerhood and beyond.

I have always been open about the realities of my rocky start to motherhood, but as my son grows, so does our relationship – and this growth is what it’s truly all about. Being there while he becomes his own person. He no longer relies on me as a food source but still enjoys me sitting with him for his meals, and I don’t rock him to sleep but read stories and chat in his bed. He likes to choose what he wears but understands when I say, “that shirt does not go”. He hugs me so tightly, wrapping his little arms around my neck, and never leaves without a kiss – little fingers pressing onto your neck, a feeling as good as this can not be imitated. He’s transformed from needing to be around me to wanting to be around me, no matter my mood, and we recite the lines from I Love You By Heart By Peter H. Reynolds. “I love all your ways. I love all your days.” The way he stares and smiles at me is the look of unconditional love. His hand grabbing mine as we walk down our driveway. His knack for making others feel special by just smiling as he enters a room. His curiosity and enthusiasm when helping with cleaning or errands. His frown. The way he wiggles his feet when he’s eating something he enjoys (like his dad). The knock-knock jokes with no punchlines and silly things he does just to make us laugh. He checks himself out in the mirror and considers everyone he meets his new best friend. He does so many things, and then he does nothing in particular to make me feel so lucky and so loved.

So, is it worth it? Absolutely, because kids are incredible and it is a true privilege to have one of my own. It’s all the other shit that comes hand-in-hand with it. ‘It’ being the trauma, the cost both financially and physically, lack of support, isolation, social criticism, and patriarchy etc etc. If there were more support systems, updated research, resources and financial aids for parents and mothers in particular maybe then we wouldn’t even have to consider, is it worth it.