Sometimes…most times, it rains

 One of my goals with this space is to provide the kind of transparency I wish I had seen more of.

Someone once told me that many people who have kids didn’t actually want them. They just lure others into parenthood by sharing all the wonders of it, like sirens beckoning sailors into a melodious trap—because, well, misery loves company.

Honestly, that’s some B.S.

I’m here to be transparent. Parenthood is a spectrum, okay? And today’s healthy dose of honesty is that you will get angry. Anger is normal. I used to try to suppress it because it’s often seen as the “bad” emotion, but here’s the thing: you have to let yourself feel what you feel. Let it pass, don’t hold onto it. Holding onto things that don’t serve you only pollutes your mind and body.

I’m 24, and though it sometimes feels like I had a teenage pregnancy, I genuinely wanted a baby at this point in my life. That being said, I absolutely HATED being pregnant, and I do not miss it one bit. I love my baby, but oh my goodness, does she make me angry at times. I get it, though—my hormones are all over the place, and they will be for quite some time, so I try to be kind to myself.

As I write this, I’m in yesterday’s clothes, I stink, and I’m covered in both dry and wet baby vomit. I’ve seen better days, and my girl is loving it! She’s buried her head in my neck, gripping my sweater like she’s afraid I’ll vanish (we spend every waking moment together, so trust me, I’m not going anywhere).

She loves her contact naps.

Before this nap, though, I felt my anger and irritation rising. Ever since she’s become more aware of the world, she plays way too much when it’s time to nurse! I get frustrated because I know she needs to eat, but I had to stop and ask myself why I was so upset in the first place.

The truth is, despite always defending children by saying they’re just as human as adults, I often try to put my own child on a schedule she doesn’t want to follow. Despite being on earth for nearly four months, my little alien is actually pretty human. She has feelings—big feelings—that she communicates surprisingly well. I tell my friends all the time that she’s a great communicator, which makes it easy to anticipate her needs. She’ll give me her hunger cues when she’s ready, just like her bedtime cues when she’s tired. I had to learn to stop fighting it and let her be the boss a bit because otherwise, we both end up upset.

We’re so programmed not to treat children of all ages as actual humans, and breaking out of that mindset isn’t easy. In theory, sure, but in practice? It takes an unparalleled level of patience, grace (for yourself, of course), and kindness. The art of being gentle is a violent act when you live in a world like this.

I know it’s become a trend to hate on children for a million different reasons, but let’s call a spade a spade—hating on beings who’ve been on this earth for a fraction of the time you have is lame. If you treat children with the dignity, decency, respect, and kindness they deserve as humans, I guarantee your interactions with them will change.

Now, don’t get me wrong—I’m not claiming to have a PhD in child-rearing. I just happen to have six siblings, a goddaughter, kids who know me as “Teacher Tess” or “Aunty Tswaki” (I’ve had some interesting side quests), and now, my own offspring. So, I’ve learned a thing or two over the years. Kids will always be kids—they’ll do things that require course correction. What I’m saying is, take a deep breath. Step away when you’re touched out. Put on your headphones when the cries start to feel like sensory overload. Whether it’s a 4-month-old, a 4-year-old, or a 14-year-old, losing your mind and getting frustrated from time to time is inevitable.

I remind myself that feeling the way I do at times doesn’t mean I love my daughter any less. Just because I don’t enjoy every part of something I’ve waited my whole life for doesn’t diminish my love for her. She’s just a baby—literally.

It’s both terrifying and humbling to know that every action I take will shape who she becomes. That thought alone keeps me in check. Sure, we have our sunshine and rainbow moments, but let’s be real—it rains in these parts too.

Twelve hours later, I’m finally getting clean, and I’m making some French toast. Have a lovely Sunday!

P.S. Let me know if you want some book recommendations on regulating emotions, childism, and the like!