If you have children, are thinking of having children, or are at an age where many of your friends have young kids, you are probably bombarded with articles and essays about how difficult parenting is and the toll it takes on parents (especially mothers). News organizations and niche websites are constantly reminding us of how much sleep we lose and how much stress we’re under (while simultaneously piling on heaps of parenting advice, continually reminding us of all the things we should be doing). And it’s true — being responsible for keeping a mostly helpless developing human alive and engaged can be challenging. For example, I spent a substantial part of this past Sunday night listening to my one-year-old uncharacteristically screaming and crying for no discernible reason while I tried unsuccessfully to console him, which made Monday morning even more of a struggle than normal. (The same scene played again on Monday night, so Tuesday was pretty rough too.) Sleep and relaxation are cherished luxuries these days, and I’m carrying the mental load of having to plan and remember a lot more stuff than I once did.
I think there’s a danger, though, in focusing too much on the burdens of raising young kids. Most of us have children because we wanted to have children. Parents are fond of telling expectant parents that they have no idea what they’re in for (“You think you’re tired NOW? Just wait!”), and that may be true to an extent, but it applies just as much to the positives as to the negatives. I’ve heard many a parent say that they never knew they could love someone so fully until they had a child. To counter the rampant complaining about parenting woes circulating the internet, I’d like to take a few minutes to reflect on the ways in which my son has enriched my life and helped me to grow.
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