Sometimes when I see fellow mommies who are uber busy with their careers or who get to party with their friends during weekends, or who attend meetings and seminars and all those other adult stuff, I get to ask myself if I am sorry about the path that I chose — that of being a full-time mom.
Okay, so maybe not exactly sorry, but I try to feel in my heart of hearts if I regret devoting most of my waking hours to my family rather than to a career or a social life. Would I be happier if my social life is not limited to baseball games or school activities or PTAs…. or watching movies with the family… or watching more baseball games left and right?
Somehow, the answer is still no.
I love my life. I love being able to spend time with my son. I love the fact that I can proudly say that I know him and he knows me… that I am not a stranger whom he only sees either early morning before he leaves for school, or late evening before he sleeps. I love that I get to meet his friends… and that I get to help him choose friends. I don’t think that would be possible if he hardly sees me.
My hope is that when he is much, much older, he can look back and say that his parents were always there for him… that we did our best to guide him, make him feel secure and loved.
That is my measure of success and fulfillment. Not so much the material things that we can provide, though we persevere to give him the best. Not even the accolades that may come if I were some high profile career person.
No, my sense of fulfillment comes from the fact that I get to spend time with my son and that I am around when he needs me most.
I saw an old piece that I posted a couple of years ago in my old blogsite. I just feel like sharing it with my new dear readers…
This morning as I dropped off my son in school, I lingered a little longer and from the back seat of my car I watched as he walked to the school gate, then enter the school premises, and eventually disappeared going up the stairs to his classroom. Somehow I couldn’t dismiss that tug in my chest as I watched him walk away.
I remember the first time my son entered big school. He was only 5 then. He wasn’t the clingy “Mom, please don’t leave me!!!” nor the whiny “I don’t want to go to school!!!” type. Nor was he the one who cries silent tears — tears that will surely melt a mom’s heart and make her want to whisk her child away (like school was a bad place or something!). No, my son held his own… He made me bring him to his classroom, he let me leave guiltlessly when it was time to leave, yet made me promise to be there at dismissal time. And I was there as promised.
He is in 5th grade now. I still drop him off in the morning… but by now I am just allowed to either stay in the car or bring him to the gate (“Mom, that is so not cool!!”). Watching him this morning, I can’t help but ask myself until when do I intend to do this? I mean, at some point I will have to learn to let go, right?
Letting go is not easy. Sometimes we wish we can forever hold our children in our hands so they are always protected. But we also know that by letting them go, we let them learn… we let them experience life… and we let them grow. Because if we hold on too tight, we will stifle their growth. There are things that they simply have to learn on their own.
But we know that whatever happens, we will be there to catch them should they fall. Perhaps what is important is that they have the knowledge and the security that whatever happens, when they need us, we will be there to pick them up…
Every dismissal. As promised.
I take motherhood seriously.
I believe being Supermommy is the best title ever.
photo credit — my ever reliable GE digicam. Yes, I took this photo.