The Buck Stops Here
Published February 11, 2007
It happened the day I brought my first child, Nicholas, home from the hospital. I had
navigated my way through the fear of the unknown and successfully given birth to a
healthy boy. I had managed to get the hang of breast-feeding and diaper changing
before leaving the hospital. I had even made it past the peculiar fear that my newborn
would inexplicably hurl himself out of my arms as I walked down the long hospital
corridor.
So, it was with a mix of calm and snickering that my sister listened as I explained my
latest phobia hours after bringing Nicholas home.
“What if he doesn’t sleep through the night?” I asked, almost in tears at the thought
of losing anymore sleep. It had been two whole days since becoming a mother and I was
already exhausted.
My sister stared at me for a long moment (trying really hard not to roll her eyes at me
in typical sisterly fashion, I’m sure) and then, in her sweetest voice said matter-of-factly,
“He won’t.”
“Well, what if I don’t know what to do?” I whimpered.
“You won’t,” she spat out again. I could feel the fear rising in me like dough.
“What if I’m no good at this?” I said in a whisper, and near tears.
And in her most loving, encouraging voice that only a woman who has known you
your entire life could possibly use, she said: “You will be.”
Thirteen years later, there are still days when I wonder.
But for the most part I am thrilled at the way my child – and the next, and the next –
has turned out. And I’m happy with the mother I continue to be.
It’s funny how the apprehension about child-rearing can render us almost immobile. I’
ve seen perplexed mothers at the grocery store stare in wonder at the child throwing a
fit on the floor of the frozen food section, incapable of moving toward the child and
admitting that the treacherous offspring is really hers. I know mothers of middle
schoolers who are so daunted by the newfound social lives of their “tweens” that they sit
in fear in their own living rooms while their kids flit from party to party. And I certainly
know parents of teenagers who wonder aloud “where did this sullen, ungrateful thing
came from and what has he done with my child?”
So convinced are we that this new stage in life is quite possibly more than we can
bear, that we are riveted to the ground until someone gently slaps us and brings us
back to reality. Back to the indisputable fact that we birthed this thing and we better kick
it into gear.
So, we seek advice and comfort from friends. We read manuals and take classes for
encouragement. We look for new ideas, new tools to add to our repertoire of parenting
skills. And at some point we simply must get down to the business of raising kids. As
much as we may want to pass the buck, the buck stops here.
Kids want to know someone’s in charge. Whether it’s changing diapers, soothing
tantrums, setting homework rules or setting limits with teens, someone’s got to take the
lead. And it better be you.
“What if I don’t know what to do?” you may ask.
You won’t.
“What if I’m no good at this?” you may wonder.
You will be.