I might have had a clue that parenting was a thankless job or even that it was tough more often than not, remembering my own upbringing and how often my mother either lost her shit on us or went and cried in another room. Girls were I'm sure more emotionally taxing than boys — and I mean that in a completely un-sexist way. I mean as un-sexist as that could possibly be stated. Why is then, that I'm surprised each time one of my sons ups the ante, challenging my tolerance as a parent?
Given that I have little to nothing to complain about with either of my boys, I'm amazed I wind up so exasperated after an argument with one of them. I'm not even sure the whole 'single mom' aspect of it factors in all that much. I suppose I just expect them to acknowledge what I'm saying, respect that I've said it and not fight back on every possible point after I've given my answer or input. When your kids think and act like you, it makes parenting an annoying task. I'm arguing with my younger self, or at least, that's the way it seems.
I do know that despite the difficulties these discussions may bring with them, they are also pivotal moments in both my sons' lives and in mine. We are hopefully figuring more out about each other and how to communicate, and maybe even seeing things from a point of view other than our own. I also hold out faith that each of my sons gains the right elements needed for becoming mature and productive adults.
The appreciation I have for my parents and all they endured during my childhood and teenage years has morphed into adoration and awe. That my mother managed to leave the child-rearing years with her sanity is nothing short of a miracle. Her incredible patience with her grandchildren surely came from years of practice raising my sisters and me. Clearly then, there is hope that this role won't forever remained thankless, as I believe one day my sons may well say something similar to me.
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