Just You Wait

My friends are a diverse group in lots of ways, including their parenting. Crafty Mamas, Granola Mamas, Corporate All Star Mamas, Fruit Snacks for Breakfast Mamas, Puddle Jumping Mamas, Sporty Mamas, Homeschool Mamas, or some other combination of wonderful things. I am here for all of it. I learn so, so much from each and every one of them. But there is one mama I just can’t embrace. Like run for the hills, want to hug her and shake her at the same time, can’t handle it mamas. And that’s the Just You Wait Mama. I know you know her, too. She is at every playdate and baby shower and Girls’ Night Out. Here’s how she operates. You and your son walk into a playdate and he looks especially precious in overalls or a John John or whatever you dressed him in. And she pounces. “Just you wait until he starts dressing himself. Those cute little outfits will be a thing of the past.” Or your daughter gives you a huge hug at a family dinner and tells you she loves you. “Just you wait till she turns three. They start talking back at three.” You’re at a baby shower filling out a card with “advice for the new mom.” Most people have an uplifting message about savoring the moment or the diaper cream that saved their baby’s chapped bottom. But the Just You Wait Mama has a raw and stern warning about how hard it is to have kids. And gosh, yes, she is right. It’s not always easy. But read the room, woman! We are here to celebrate new life, not lament it.

Here's what I want to tell the Just You Wait Mama. I was excited for my marriage to change with the birth of our baby. I love Matt Belsante. I loved him when I met him and when we used to make out in the car in college (sorry, Mom.) I loved him when we were broke and he was in grad school and we sat on a bare, hand me down couch watching bootleg Sopranos DVDs. I loved him when we were married with no kids and played trivia with our friends on a whim on a random Tuesday. Sure, I sometimes wonder how I ever thought we were busy before. Or what the heck we did with our time on the weekends. I wish we had spent those long lazy afternoons going on day trips and having movie marathons. But sometimes you don’t know what you have till it’s gone. And while I would love more undivided time with my husband, I wouldn’t trade what we have now for what we had then. Watching him be a dad has showed me another side of him. Tough conversations about how I often prioritize our kids over our relationship have stretched me and helped me grow. Having less time just the two of us helps me savor it even more when we do have it. Date nights are a tiny piece of Heaven and when they roll around, I am ready for them. Just you wait for your marriage to change? I did. And it evolved for the better.

Just You Wait Mama warned me what would happen when my baby became mobile. But here’s what actually happened. I was there with baited breath waiting for that big chunk of a baby to crawl and toddle and walk. It gave me the chance to show him the power and skill his little body possesses. Not only does he walk now but he runs and jumps and wrestles his daddy and brothers. He helps flip pancakes on Saturday mornings and hugs his grandma tight around the neck. He gets frustrated and kicks his pudgy feet and punches the ground when I cut off his fruit snack supply. And I get to teach him when to use his words instead of his body to get what he needs. He tries to jump off the third stair and I tell him about self-control and knowing your body’s limits. When he took a bad angle at the bottom of a steep slide on the playground, I got to watch him learn to walk in a tiny cast. And it broke my heart but I learned he’s determined and he learned God designed his body to bounce back and heal. Yep, he gained mobility. And a taste of freedom and autonomy and adventure. Just like I wanted him to. So Just You Wait Mama, I waited. And it’s turning out great.

Just you wait till he learns to talk back. I didn’t have to wait long. My kids are all extremely verbal. When we were expecting our third, Matt told me, “I don’t care if we have a girl or a boy. But wouldn’t it be nice to have a quiet child?” Poor Matt. I just don’t make those. Our children have all started expressing their feelings really dang early. From crying jags at birth to telling an Old Navy cashier he was, “frustrated and disappointed” at 20 months old, Louis is the king of chatter and sass. And trust me, I have lost my cool a time or fifty responding to those great big emotions. Just today, he told me that, “nice moms let their kids have hamsters.” Queen of Mean over here, y’all. While I wish he didn’t question my rules and ideas and authority constantly, it’s my job to coach him on how to talk to teachers and friends and bullies and his brothers. And I get to show him that his big, curious, questioning mind has worth. Big questions like, “why are some animals endangered” turn into bake sales to raise money to save the elephants. Wondering how TV shows are made become making our own movie about dinosaurs on his tablet. Yes, I constantly remind him that he needs to be respectful of authority but he constantly reminds me that some questions are worth asking. I get to watch a person wonder and remind him that his thoughts and feelings have worth and impact change. Yep, he talks back Just You Wait Mama. But he’s then guided and coached and redirected. And it’s hard. But the payoff is great.

Just you wait till they dress themselves. I will admit I held tightly to this one. We had a rule for the first five years of Louis’s life. He could only wear jeans or khakis to school. No gym shorts. No joggers. No Under Armor. My rationale was simple. School is your job. And just like Daddy dresses nicely for his job, you need to dress nicely for yours. Now, let me just say these were not fancy jeans. They were $10 Target markdown jeans. But still. I wanted him to know that school is important and he needed to look the part. For the first four years of his life, he rarely fought back. He’d put on the jeans and khakis, pick his own shirt and maybe a hat, and out the door we’d go. Then he hit pre-K. He was in a class of very boyish boys, There was lots of soccer playing and jumping off the jungle gym and laying on the floor to build train tracks. And Louis wanted comfy pants bad. And I said no way, Jose. We have rules in this house and one of them is that we wear jeans and khakis at school.

Maybe I should be ashamed to admit it but it took a therapist to talk me out of this one. I met with a family counselor at the end of Louis’s pre-K year. He is so much like me it scares me sometimes. And I wanted some tips on raising a perfectionist. Somehow our family dress code came up and the counselor gave me the wisest advice I’ve about ever gotten. She said, “You know, I have four kids. And it took me till the fourth one to ask myself the most important parenting question. ‘Is it a moral issue?’ If it is, I fight my kids on it. If not, I let it go. Are jeans a morale issue for you? Maybe they are if you’re at a fancy restaurant or a play or a wedding. But if not, let the kid wear them.” Lightbulb. Face to the palm. Of course. Let it go, Julia. So yes, it took me a while to come to terms with the way my kids dress themselves. But once I let go, they have all developed amazing personal taste of their own. And that was worth waiting for.

Just wait until they test the limits. My kids aren’t supposed to like me all the time. I’m an authority to my children. A loved and trusted authority but an authority nonetheless. Part of my role is to enforce boundaries and teach social norms: what we wear for different occasions and conditions; behavioral norms in places like school, stores, grandma’s house, you name it; setting limits on things like sugar, screen time, and time with friends; how to speak to grown-ups, siblings, teachers, friends, people you disagree with. These things are hard. For kids and adults. They take practice and discipline and sacrifice. Trust me, I would love to wear leggings to work every day, but it’s against the rules. It would be amazing if I could eat all the ice cream and salt and vinegar potato chips I want. But it would be bad for my body. And few things in life would have made me as happy as telling my smug first boss exactly what I thought of her. But, y’all, I had rent to pay and my car needed gas. Our kids don’t have to like us all the time. In fact, they shouldn’t like us all the time. Our job isn’t to be liked by our kids every waking moment. It’s to help them become who they were meant to be by loving and nurturing them well. And yes, that requires them to cry and sass and test boundaries. So yes, Just You Wait Mama. They will try to test the limits. But I’m here with firm and loving reminders.

But there’s one reminder from the Just You Wait Mama that does hurt me to my core and it’s because I know she’s right on this one. Just you wait. It goes so quickly. Yes, Mama. I know. It goes far too quickly. I know they say the days are long but the years are short. Sure, I only have seven years of parenting under my belt. But it all feels too fast. The days, the weeks, the years. They are a blur. And I am dragging my feet in vain to slow it the heck down. Every day, I see my babies getting a little bit bigger. Their fat toddler bellies flatten and fade. They stop mispronouncing words and learn to read and write on their own. Just the other night, Teddy slept without his special blanket for the first time since he got it on his first birthday. And sure, I don’t want him to be sixteen and dragging that ratty thing to sleepovers. But I liked the familiarity of my little boy wrapped in a soft, faded lovey coming into my room far too early every morning and asking me to, “move over and snuggle.” I like being their world. It’s a privilege. And it’s one that will fade. It should fade. The world needs my mighty men now more than ever. I will raise them well and hand them over a little more each day for the greater good. But I must admit, that’s a day I want to wait a little longer for.