Running in Circles

home insemination Kit

Updated: Aug. 3, 2016

Originally Published: Aug. 29, 2015

They’re off before I can even manage a quick goodbye or wish them a good day. I watch their little heads bob through the bustling crowd of kids and parents. Just as they’re about to merge with the stream of children pouring through the school doors, I spot them clasping hands. They don’t wait for one another to reach out first; they grab each other simultaneously and then vanish into the throng.

I linger for a moment, stretching up on my tiptoes, hoping to catch a glimpse of their dark, curly hair or those bright orange backpacks. If I could just see a little piece of them before they disappear, I could send one last good wish and an invisible hug as they embark on their day. But there are too many kids filling the spaces between us.

I find myself wishing these moments could last just a tad longer, but the whirlwind of energy contained within my two little boys makes that seem impossible. Even during their bickering and whining—being the loud, spirited kids they are—I wish time would slow down.

In those moments, I see my children deeply engaged in the journey of becoming their own individuals, learning how the world works, asking questions, and developing their own moral compasses. It’s like watching a drawing come to life, as the lines and smudges transform into vibrant, three-dimensional figures. My kids are growing into fuller versions of themselves.

Before this, I often wished to fast forward through the exhausting physicality of parenting—the endless cycle of diapering, feeding, burping, and sleepless nights. While everyone around me seemed eager to freeze those fleeting baby moments, I feared being consumed by my children, lost in the never-ending folds of soft cheeks and giggles.

As a child, I never played with dolls. Stuffed animals were my thing, but not dolls. I never imagined nurturing them either. When my first child arrived, I was overwhelmed. Whenever I could disentangle myself from his little limbs, I fled the apartment, bursting through the front door, still smelling like sour milk. It didn’t matter where I went, as long as it was away from home. But with each second that ticked away before I had to return, it felt like bricks were piling up on my chest. Some days, I wished I could just keep walking without looking back.

When my son was 16 months old, my partner left for a business trip. A few hours into his absence, my son’s cries and my anxiety felt suffocating. I needed to escape my own skin. I carried him to his crib, closed the door, and called my partner.

“I can’t stand this,” were the first words I blurted out when he picked up. “I can’t do this! He won’t stop crying; he’s driving me insane. I don’t want to be here anymore.” Those words burned in my chest—painful but honest. “If he doesn’t stop crying, I don’t know what I’ll do.”

After we hung up, my partner booked the next flight home. Back then, I didn’t want to hit pause; I needed to rush through those exhausting stages for the sake of my sanity and my family’s well-being. Maybe I needed to speed through those days to arrive at this point, where I feel less like I’m just playing dress-up as a mother and where anxiety doesn’t rise like a bitter taste in my throat. Now, I resist that urge to rush forward, both for my sake and for my kids.

At school pickup, I see them emerging from the crowd just as quickly as they had vanished that morning. As we stroll home, they effortlessly slip into conversation, playfully chasing each other down the sidewalk. A smile spreads across my face as I realize I feel calm. We’ve found a natural rhythm together. We even take a detour through the playground, letting them continue their game of tag. After all, we’re not in a hurry to get anywhere.

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Summary:

In “Running in Circles,” Jamie Lee reflects on the fleeting moments of childhood and parenting, capturing the bittersweet nature of watching her children grow. From the overwhelming early days of motherhood to finding a comfortable rhythm with her boys, she navigates the complexities of parenting with honesty and warmth, ultimately cherishing the chaos and joy that comes with it.