Dear Parents,
Let me begin with a blanket apology that should cover just about everything I’ve ever done to you.
Now, for the details on why–
I realized yesterday at Target, after a woman backed her cart into me and my stroller and didn’t even bat an eye, that I used to be her. I used to be one of these people who wondered why you brought your kid to Target in the first place (can’t you get someone to watch them for a few minutes?), or why you felt it necessary to jam all three of your children in the grocery cart so they can toss stuff out and block each isle for everyone else. I was one of those people that got annoyed when you drove the speed limit in front of me, simply because you had your baby in the backseat. I was that girl that rolled my eyes when you had your child pass money to the teller at the bank, oblivious to the fact that I was witnessing your learning experience but instead obsessing on the extra sixty seconds you were taking out of my day to do this.
I didn’t recently just gain a child, but also a massive dose of patience.
Last week, I took the baby to the pediatrician alone. After our appointment, I needed to travel another five minutes to have her blood drawn. Doctor’s appointment was at 9:45. I figured we’d be home by 11. Boy, was I wrong. I didn’t factor in the fact that the doctor was running late. I didn’t account for the fact that I’d need to drive to the far end of a parking lot, pull over, and climb in the backseat and nurse my screaming child for forty-five minutes. I didn’t realize how long it takes to get the carseat out of the car, get the stroller out of the trunk, snap the carseat into the stroller, and then make it inside while still knowing where my keys are. I didn’t realize that I’d want to sit and hold her after her heel was stuck for blood, not to comfort her but to comfort myself. We made it back in the house at 1:30.
Eight weeks ago, this would have stressed me out to no end. Now, it’s part of my maternity leave routine. Time doesn’t matter. What you have to do to get your day done doesn’t matter. I realize that every parent was just doing what they needed to do to get by, even if it meant driving the speed limit.
Love,
Anne
Copyright 2014 Anne Mathay