Since having children life has changed.

I know that is a trite thing to say. Of course it has, you moron, you might be thinking… And of course, it has changed in all the ways people talk about. I’m tired. I’m busy. Things are messier and more chaotic.

But I’m so much more driven. Because, you see, once you have children, you have goals. I have two goals, because I have two sons. My goals are similar. To see these small humans through successfully to adulthood. These goals are stressful. To me, at least. And they are manifested and pursued in different ways for each of my sons. And that is hard, too.

I look at parents with almost-grown boys and marvel. I shake my head and wonder if they know something I don’t. I wonder if they are wiser or calmer or more intuitive than I am, that they could have managed the enormous feat of raising a boy to near-adulthood successfully. I think of this especially when I see the almost-adult boy doing respectable, polite things. Being cordial and sweet, charming and gracious. I wonder about the people who raised him. How did they manage it?

I am trying. And I am terrified.

One of my sons makes it easier than the other. One of them seems content to just grow up, and I get to hug him and cuddle him and love him along the way. For him, it seems like growing up is just happening. The other wants to fight. He wants to fight me, he wants to fight his peers, but I think mostly he tries to fight himself. He wants to be bigger than he is, older and more mature. He wants to fight time and chronology. And growing up for him seems to be a struggle. And so it’s stressful for me. I lose patience, I get angry. And I constantly ask myself if I’m screwing it all up. If I’m screwing him up. If I’m doing anything right at all.

This is the hardest thing I’ve ever done, this child-having. And I know that this stress will not leave me as long as they live in my house. And probably not then. But my goal right now is just to raise them to adulthood. To have two grown, stable men stand next to me and call me “mom.” To know that they are secure and strong, and that I have met my goal – that I can finally hand the responsibility over to them. That I can rest.

And sometimes, I swear, all I want to do is lie down.