“The universe gave me a child because it knew I needed to learn how to be patient.” — I heard this on a podcast, and does it ever resonate with me.
I was telling my husband last night that if I could change one thing about my personality, it would be this: Be more patient. I’ve always leaned toward the impatient: Standing by the door with my coat on, tapping my toes and looking at my watch while I wait for my husband to leave the house for dinner; telling friends the the brunch reservation is 30 minutes before it actually is because I can’t stand waiting for them, making my friends leave obscenely early for a hike or a day at the beach because I have anxiety about full parking lots.
But you can’t do any of that with a baby, and not just because it’s hard to bring babies to nice dinners or brunches or hikes or wine tasting, especially during a pandemic. It’s because babies do what they do and babies are on their own timeline. If they need their diaper changed twice before you leave the house, what are you going to do? You gotta change their diaper and it just feels mean to roll your eyes while you do it. If the baby needs a bottle, then another bottle, then a handful of puffs, then another bottle before you strap him into the stroller for a walk, then you’re going to give him three bottles and a bunch of puffs and go for a walk an hour later than planned.
When I told my husband I would like to become more patient, he said, “What are you talking about? You’re the most patient mom in the world.” That gave me pause. Because I guess I am a super patient mom. Not so much in the rest of my life, but hey, nobody’s perfect.