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Lessons from My First Child: A Reflection on Parenting
My journey into motherhood began at the tender age of 19 with the birth of my first son. I had little to my name and even less that I deemed necessary. What I truly craved weren’t material possessions but rather experiences, connections, and feelings. I poured my heart into healing from a tumultuous upbringing, determined to spare my child from the emotional scars of my past. Although I inevitably passed some of my baggage onto him, my efforts in therapy, reading, and journaling transformed his early years into a time filled with love and security.
With just a diaper and some wipes in my purse, I ventured out with my baby. My mom would chuckle, reminiscing about how things had changed since her day: “I couldn’t leave the house without a cartload of supplies!” My youth shielded me from comparison; I had no friends with children. My son thrived on the undivided attention as he was the only child in my world. I carried him in a sling or my arms and embraced breastfeeding, so bottles and formula were never part of the equation.
Together, we explored bookstores, parks, and beaches. By the time he turned two, he was an incredibly joyful, observant, and secure little boy. “He’s so polite!” “He holds conversations like a big kid!” “He’s such a good listener!” I heard these praises constantly from friends and strangers alike. I simply smiled and nodded as he played contentedly while I wrote.
I worked as a nanny and later as a preschool teacher to stay close to him throughout the day. At night, I took college courses when my mom could babysit. We spent 90 to 95 percent of those early years together, co-sleeping, cuddling, and dancing around the living room. His toys were few, and his wardrobe was mostly secondhand. Our special tradition was Friday Night Family Night, where we’d order pizza and rent a movie from Blockbuster—his choice, then mine. Our bond was unbreakable, and our life was rich with experiences: bug hunting, reading countless books, gardening with Grandma, and exploring art and music. It was more than enough; it was truly abundant.
Fast forward to my youngest, a spirited four-year-old named Emma. She enjoys advantages that my first son didn’t have: a stable home, a loving family, and two parents with steady jobs. Having her in my late thirties, I feel more grounded and confident than I ever did in my youth. Emma has three older siblings who adore her, plus an extended family that’s lively and supportive.
However, while she has an impressive collection of toys—everything from building blocks to musical instruments—she lacks the sustained, individual attention that her brother enjoyed. I know she isn’t lacking in love or security, but I often find myself caught up in the busyness of life, which distracts me from being fully present with her.
I feel a pang of sadness about this reality. I recognize that my work, writing, and responsibilities have pulled me away from the focused attention Emma deserves. I’m trying to remind myself that she doesn’t need more toys or more activities; she needs me. She needs walks where I’m not rushing, playtime without distractions, and a calm environment where we can enjoy each other’s company. I often repeat to myself, “Be where you are.” This mantra serves as a reminder to engage fully in the moment—whether it’s leaving the gadgets behind for a walk or simply being present during our time together.
In my heart, I know that the time I dedicate to my children allows them to give me the space to focus on other aspects of my life. It’s a beautiful cycle of connection and support.
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Summary:
Reflecting on my parenting journey, I see how the lessons I learned with my first child continue to shape my approach as I navigate parenthood with my youngest. Despite the distractions of modern life, I’m reminded that my presence and focused attention are the most precious gifts I can offer my children.