On a trip out of town last week, I took my 1-year-old daughter to urgent care to beg for some medicated eye drops for a raging case of pinkeye, because when does a trip with little kids NOT include a visit to the local urgent care?
It all worked out fine— we got the eyedrops, they did their job, and the only inconvenience was missing dinner with a few friends. And the wait was shorter than usual at that type of place—only 40 minutes or so. The noteworthy part of the visit was the gal I talked to during that wait, our in the lobby.
My daughter was toddling around, eating mandarin orange slices, drinking her bottle, pounding her grimy hands up against the window when she saw a dog walking by in the distance, trying to engage strangers in peekaboo, refusing to sit still, all the usual baby/toddler things. And I was doing all the usual mom things: Handing her new orange slices, picking her up when she waddled to close to the other people waiting, singing in her ear quietly when she fussed, making sure she didn’t escape out the front door and run into traffic in pursuit of a cute dog, etc etc. Nothing remarkable, and if anything I was a little impatient because I was upset to be missing dinner out.
The gal sitting on the couch next to us had a bunch of stitches in her chin; presumably she was there to get them removed. She was wearing a college sweatshirt and looked about 20 years old. She engaged my daughter in peekaboo, ignored her crusty red eyes, and remarked on her cuteness. We started chatting and I learned she was a student at the nearby college I had also attended (she told me the dorm I lived in was now “rundown and gross” and that my major no longer existed, so hi I’m old).
After chatting for a few minutes, my daughter started pawing through the diaper bag and came up with an empty bottle. I quickly made some milk, picked her up and held her while she drank it. The most run-of-the-mill mom stuff in the world.
My new college friend looked over at us and said, “I was watching you earlier, and you seem like a good mom. It’s nice that you respond compassionately to her needs and you seem to always know what she wants.”
It was one of the nicest things a stranger has ever said to me and something I wouldn’t expect from anyone, let alone someone who’s so young and not a mom herself.
In a world where moms worry so much about being judged for their every move and every decision—and honestly, one in which they often ARE judged—it’s uncommon to hear a genuine, straightforward compliment. I’ve had people tell me the benefits of breastfeeding when I told them I mostly formula fed my second child. People have looked at me sideways when my kids cough in public. I’ve seen raised eyebrows when my son throws a tantrum at Target because I won’t buy him the red spatula he inexplicably wants to play with (who among us HASN’T witnessed their child throw a tantrum in Target?)
We’re all doing GREAT
I thanked my waiting-room friend and told her that was very nice to hear. It really was. It feels warm and fuzzy to hear some validation that maybe you’re doing an OK job being a mom. Your little kids can’t tell you that, and their actions—the crying, the tantrums!—often seem to indicate that actually you’re doing kind of a BAD job, even though I know that’s not true, your mind is always racing wondering how you could be better. You take all these small actions every day that seem, in the moment, like they don’t add up to much: attempting to feed them breakfast, dressing them in clean clothes, playing at the park, reading picture books before bed. Often it feels mundane and even boring.
I try to remind myself that all those things DO add up to a lot. I’m taking care of my kids. You’re taking care of your kids. It’s important work, all of it. Hearing from a stranger “you seem like a good mom” is a welcome pick-me-up and a reminder to self to tell that to other moms more often. All the little boring routine things matter and we’re doing great!