Parenting is a wild ride. Even when kids are healthy, they draw so many resources from us. But when they're sick, the demands almost unbearable. They want every bit of attention; physically and emotionally. Unfortunately my household has been sick. I need to firmly reply to my son bawling, "I can't hold you while I'm cutting up your fruit." When he's not feeling 100%, he follows me everywhere, not just the bathroom but also begging to be the center of my focus sleeping and awake.
My toddler craves my undivided attention. He won’t settle until I walk with him and spend the hour playing side by side. Sometimes I wonder if it's because he's an only child or if it's my parenting style, but I truly believe that every child longs for that full, loving focus. They want praise and help while drawing together, building with blocks, solving puzzles, or reading stacks of books. We are social beings, and what more fulfillment is there than sitting beside someone who knows you, understands you, and loves you.
I’m proud to be an active parent. It takes real concentration and discipline to spend hours fully present with my child. I see how he's benefitting every day, he's happy, healthy, and naturally curious. But staying present is hard work, especially when life has distractions— on my phone, social media, work, podcasts—something is always vying for my attention. And just when I think I’ve got it under control, our family gets sick... again! Someone should start wiping down the toys at his preschool playdates because we seem to catch something every time.
I’m committed to being there for my son—not as a hovering parent, but as a reliable partner in every moment of his life. Whether he’s solving a problem, having fun with his baby friends, or just needing a cuddle, I want him to know he can count on me. Even though he doesn’t yet have the capacity to regulate his emotions or think long-term, I’m here to guide him until he believes in himself and he knows he's never alone.
Today, for example, he started showing signs of tiredness mid-morning, meaning he started crying and throwing himself on the floor when I suggested a new activity. We came inside to make a “rush order” lunch for the two-foot person in a high chair—while Dad was busy cooking chicken—I prepared some fried rice and cheesy pasta leftovers. Somehow, between the busy cooking and cleaning, we all managed to eat, though not together. At this point he would normally go down easily for a nap.
I read him three books, and he still wasn’t ready for sleep. I’ve always believed in being present at bedtime rather than leaving him to cry it out. I worry that strict self-regulation might mask a deeper need for parental support. So, we got up and Dad read to him while I paid a bill. Then we went back to bed and I read to him again. Nothing worked. I grabbed my keys, sat him in his car seat, and drove to the nearest drive-thru Starbucks. We live on the outskirts of the San Francisco Bay Area, which sometimes feels as remote as Bakersfield because it's 20 minutes and 3 exits away from a Starbucks. He was out within minutes. I come from the Pacific Northwest where there are drive-thru coffee shacks at every major intersection. If anyone’s looking for a business, I suggest opening a chain of drive-thru coffees in California, there's a clear scarcity and moms need drive-thru coffee.
After a 20-minute wait in the drive-thru, I had a peaceful car ride home and got him in bed. It took me two hours to get him to nap. In all that time, where was my confidence in knowing that he would eventually sleep? Instead of fighting him to go to sleep, I could've spent one hour calmly reading to him, quietly playing, and meeting his needs with my full attention. Instead, it took twice as long and I was rushed, distracted, thinking about work, and drinking a latte which probably has 100 ingredients that I can't pronounce. If I had chosen to slow down my life to be more present with my toddler, we both would've been able to get what we were looking for.
