I don’t really think of myself as a sentimental person, and I kinda can’t believe I’m titling a post “the most beautiful quote I’ve ever read about motherhood.” Honestly, quotes I see on Instagram about motherhood sometimes make me cringe in much the same way as “Live Laugh Love” wall hangings.
But here I am, still thinking about an evocative passage I read a full week ago, feeling all the feelings. It’s from Emma Straub’s latest novel, “This Time Tomorrow.” It’s a great book about love and parenthood and friendship, seen through the lens of time travel.
In this passage, the main character has traveled back in time from her 40-year-old present to the 16-year-old she was in the past. In the present, her father is in his 70s and terminally ill. Once she figures out how to travel back in time, she can’t stop herself from revisiting her 16th birthday, when her dad was in his 40s and healthy and vibrant and loving and a parent and a friend:
“He had been young, and she had been young–they had been young together. Why was it so hard to see that, how close generations were? That children and their parents were companions through life. Maybe that’s why she was here now. Maybe this was the moment when they were both at their best, and together.”
–Emma Straub, “This Time Tomorrow”
I got goosebumps when I read those sentences, and I’m not just saying that. Actual goosebumps. Actual sharp inhalation of breath. Actual mind-twist; actual heart-clench.
I immediately thought of my children, of course, my one-year-old and two-year-old babies. I realize this next thought is sort of petty and sort of morbid, but when I got pregnant for the first time at 32, I had some unpleasant thoughts. I’m jealous of this baby’s youth; I hope I don’t pin my unrealized dreams onto him and any future siblings; Isn’t it sad that by the time my kid is old enough to start making real decisions about his life, it’ll sort of be too late for me to change the course of mine?
The quote above speaks to the opposite, though. In the grand scheme of things, mothers and their children are incredibly close in age, separated by just one generation, their lives overlapping–if they’re lucky–by many decades. And their youthfulness overlaps by many decades, too (unless your dad is Larry King or something). Because really, of course a BABY is as young as you can get, but someone in their 30s or 40s is quite young, too. They have much of their life ahead of them. That quote is such an optimistic way of looking at life, of looking at parenthood and childhood and friendship. Maybe it spoke to me because I need more optimism in my life–as does most of this country and most of this world. In fact, maybe I should have called this post “The Most Optimistic Quote I’ve Ever Read About Motherhood.”
Then there’s the idea of children and their parents being “companions through life.” It’s such a sweet, simple way of looking at the relationship: It’s not that parents teach their children how to live, though they do, to some extent, if only because it’s unavoidable. And it’s not that children teach their parents what life is all about, though that often happens, too. It’s that parents and children create a family; they’re the people you’re with day in and day out, enduring the tough times and celebrating the good times.
The idea of “companions” and close generations also reminds me of a similar thought, that children and their parents grow up together. That has been incredibly comforting to me as I try to figure out how to keep my kids alive and maybe hopefully possibly start shaping them into productive members of society. It has helped me give myself the patience and grace to be imperfect.
Yes, my kids are babies and it’s my job to raise them. But I’m only 30-something years away from being a baby! I’m still growing up, too! I still have a lot to learn, too! Just last week, I asked my dad if it’s worth it to pay for an extended warranty on a car because I don’t understand warranties or cars. Over the weekend I bought an apple pie at the grocery store because I have never learned how to make one myself. And yesterday, a friend brought me some mint leaves for my “garden” and I wasn’t sure how to tell her that the dirt outside isn’t a garden so much as a patch of dirt that will remain a patch of dirt because I don’t know how to plant things.
So maybe that’s the point of having children: To send them off in the world to learn about things like warranties and baking and herb gardens (actually, is mint an herb? Another thing I don’t know!) so they can teach us. To learn together, to grow up together. Isn’t that beautiful and optimistic? Thank you, books.