My Kids Like It Best When I Ignore Them

Early motherhood and the value of ambivalence.

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Shortly before returning to work when my oldest wast 18 months old, I laid in bed on a Sunday morning. It was late spring and sleeping in meant letting my daughter’s dad take her downstairs while I stared blankly at the ceiling until 7 am. It was a gorgeous morning. The sun filtered through the spruce and spilled on our messy bed covers. I stood up, let out a sigh, and felt the deep loneliness that can be motherhood. “I don’t want to be the architect of another day”, I thought.

Loaded in that thought was all the pressure I felt to do things “right” — whatever that was. It was nap schedules and play dates and play groups and making dinner by myself for a toddler who didn’t care and a husband who would be home by the time I was cleaning it all up. It was swim time and hikes with a tot on my back and bad weather and being stuck in the house all day.

It was the hard truth: no matter what I did, I still felt like I was messing up.

As I write, there is a pretend bonfire in my living room. All the fox stuffed animals are gathered around a candle, and they’re initiating the newest fox.

I promised to play a game of chess with my youngest (8) when I’m done writing, but she got bored waiting and came up with…