Around this time last year, Chris and Eider and I were hemming and hawing over whether Eider should take a spot on 802 Lacrosse, northern Vermont’s club team. The kid really needed something to work and we just couldn’t tell if he was into it or just trying to please mom and dad. He had recently decided that he was done with soccer, after 8 years of the sport, and it didn’t seem like his enthusiasm for lacrosse was particularly sincere. Plus, puberty is a kick in the pants and Eid had had a rough season the previous spring, with rapid growth-related shin splints that caused him to slow-mo hobble across practices and games for most of those three months. It was tough. To witness and certainly to live inside of for him.
We just couldn’t get a bead on him. I think it took us like 2 months to confirm that Eider would take the spot. It felt like such a huge commitment; lots of cash and tons of driving to get to practices; and we weren’t eager to press that upon him if he wasn’t really into it. I remember feeling like I was searching him, trying to see below what he was saying to us, and trying to find somewhere in there what it was he really wanted.
Finally, we committed. It was a slow roll into certainty but by the time the spring season came around Eider looked stronger and a lot like the earnest little boy eagerness and tenacity had been restored inside of his bigger boy self. And a year later, after a big spring, summer, and fall season under our belts, it is clear that it was the right move for him and he is pumped for another year in the club. It is a good one and he has found a place there to really thrive.
But good grief there was some serious soul-searching that had to happen to land him there. And while some of that feels very particular to parenting Eider, I am reminded over and over again of the way in which that discernment is one of the more difficult aspects of parenting in general. One that I come up against time and time again as I am asked to make decisions for and on behalf of these growing people.
I was reminded of this again big time when I recently decided to defer our family doctor’s preferences and tap out of Wilfred’s vaccination catch-up protocols. I have shared a little bit lately about how rough this has been going for us; the protests and the tears. He has been on a delayed catch-up schedule, beginning when he turned two. Every so often I bring him in for two shots, one in either chubby thigh, playing a slow game of catch up with the recommended vaccination schedule. And it has been a nightmare, increasing in stress and difficulty with every visit. So much so that on some occasions even driving to the side of town that the clinic is on causes him to panic in his car seat, declaring that he does not like shots, he does not like owies, and no no no please no. Sometimes he just begins randomly talking about it, seemingly out of the blue but clearly something he has been worrying about. And when it is actually the time to go in and get another two shots it is a full-on physical freak out from the moment he sees where we are headed. We hold him tight and restrain him through the whole process. It fucking sucks and presses well beyond the limit of my own skillful management of my nervous system. Which of course, he can feel too. Poor little dude.
So whatever last week I pulled the plug. On Friday morning we were supposed to go in for his 3rd Covid shot and I just bailed. I couldn’t. And when I looked at the list of all the shots to follow in the coming weeks and months I just knew I didn’t have it in me to force this upon him right now. So I tapped out. And before anyone comes at me either way about any of this, trust me please, I already know. I both want my kid to get his vaccinations and I also want to respect his emotional well-being and right now I am prioritizing one over the other. And honestly, emotions almost always trump in my book. Unless the situation is truly urgent and/or dire. I did a far more delayed schedule with the bigs; one shot or two shots every year beginning at the ripe old ages of 5 and 8 and then accelerating to near completion when we moved to Vermont and I let them do more of the deciding for themselves. They wanted their shots. Pretty much all of them.
But this is the work, right? Watching, listening, gathering information. It is the hardest shit of parenting in my experience. I know I am not alone here. It is really difficult to make decisions for other people, especially when those people are the ones who you care about beyond all others. Not for the fucking faint of heart I am told. I concur.
I was thinking about this whole dynamic of parenting recently, this searching of our children for information on when it is best to push them a bit through their inertia or resistance, when it is important and necessary as their care provider to override and overrule their preferences in favor (and in faith) of the wellbeing, health, and safety (or thrive) that lives on the other side of the difficulty. It is a moving target for sure and it requires staying fluid and awake to really knowing your kid; who they are, what they tend toward; what they dream of; where their fears live… it’s the whole thing. And let me tell you knowing how to do that even for myself feels like the real work of life so endeavoring to do this for another at the front end of their own, well, it’s just a lot. And there are no breaks from it. Not really. No rest for the weary as they say.
It was always this way, since the very beginning of them. I remember being in labor with Maple, and then with both of the boys, and there being these moments in which the midwife would look at me and tell me that it was time to push now and me just being like “What?? Really?”. It just didn’t feel intuitive at all but something I had to choose to do. I had no idea when to push and no idea when to wait. It made no sense to me and I had to really learn experientially that you pushed during a contraction and when it eased, so did you. The theory of it made no sense. I had to live it. It humbled me then and it humbles me now.
So much of parenting has been this way for me. Learning on the fly how to respond to what is being asked by the child in front of me versus the fantasy about any of it that has occupied my attention. And for sure often this has meant doubling back and changing course or even compensating, restoring, or repairing something that I fucked up on my initial pass-through. I have been fumbling my way through this gig for nearly 17 years now and still, I think perhaps I know next to nothing. Save this: I have to stay awake. To the people in front of me. To the needs that live underneath the desires, to the desires that are screaming to be unearthed, and also to the systems that support the larger framework for their lived experience. I have to stay awake to that in me too. I need to live inside of my wholeness as best as I am able in order to hold the space for them as they find theirs. So much trial and error. So many do-overs. And so much forgiveness asked for. From myself especially.
Anyhow. I am here for it. It is not easy but it is certainly real and I am certain I will continue to second guess everything over and over again throughout the whole course of things. But that is how it goes. At least for me. And I am certain I am not alone. So, onward loves.