Existentialism Parenting

On this late morning to myself, I was ready to switch back to 20something Bre in a coffee shop – a place where I would find myself over and over again throughout my twenties. Hours upon hours were spent writing, studying, musing, and drinking a really lovely latte from a Chicago coffee shop. I loved that time of life. Lazy, slow, steady.

It is only fitting that I found myself standing in the crowded, loud line for the Chai latte of my dreams when I looked around, pivoted and went to the local library instead. Granted, our library does have a coffee shop. But it also has quiet spaces to disengage, large windows with light pouring in, and that very specific coziness that you can find in any library setting. And here I write to talk about my existential crisis in parenting.

Parenting and marriage can be anything but the lazy, slow, and steady that I once sought out. That is not groundbreaking information, but I do find it helpful to remind myself that this loud, silly, and often chaotic sense of life is fleeting. I am often the parent to young kids in any given situation at work, and the topic of children can be an easy talking point for people to broach during networking or when getting to know a new colleague. What I have discovered time and time again keeps leaving me with a sense of existentialism that swallows me absolutely whole.

This is going to fly by so fast. All of it.

Now a parent to a seven-year-old and a five-month-old, I can – with a concerned certainty in my voice – agree. It’s like I’ve been given some grim diagnosis: Your Children Will Not Always Be Children To Be Held, Swung, or Chased. And I’m taking it to heart. I have two wildly different ages living in my household, showing me that, at some point, I stepped into a time warp and before me is a Kid. No longer a baby and not a toddler, but a stinky, funny, sassy kid learning how to add and subtract, and not mix up his B’s and D’s. All while I hold a baby who naps in soundly in my arms and often giggles at his bedroom wall.

That time I had with baby/toddler Declan is now just … passed. We were held by time as we sat crisscross applesauce in his playroom. Watching him “cook” for us or bounce on the couch to The Ants Go Marching In. Time is now held in our hands as we watch back on our phones. I feel tears in my eyes just writing this out to you now.

Because of this awakening, I am trying to approach parenting with immense gentleness, even when I’m so annoyed I can barely open my eyeballs. Like recently, when I escaped to our workout room to get in 10 minutes of yoga. Thinking I made a sly escape, Declan pops his head in and says, “I heard you and got my shoes.” I sighed and focused on how he loves to “workout” with me. And even though that ended up turning into him bouncing around and finding markers to color on random paper, I still had to tell myself the thing I now whisper to myself as a prayer of sorts:

He won’t always _______.

Parenting can have really rough days or weeks. I apologize to Declan for losing my shit sometimes, and I make a concerted effort to mend wounds I know I created. There will come a day when he and his brother will be off to college or signing a lease to a new apartment in some other city. Brendan and I will find ourselves in the kitchen looking at one another in a lasting silence completely unimaginable right now. And we join the ranks of all those before us and say, “That went by so fast.”

… and then we figure out marriage on that side of life.

If you are a parent, I sit with you in this tenderness toward time. May we touch their changing faces often, kissing their once chubby cheeks, holding their hands when they allow us to, and reminding them of the joy they bring us. Their goodness is a dopamine hit.

Next writing assignment: marriage. Based on the book, How Not To Hate Your Husband After Kids.

xo