Children and the Windows They Close

We often like to talk about how children open up so many paths we never knew existed. This is totally true.

We learn about a special kind of love, we regain perspective into childhood and the awe that is "new" concepts. We learn to love simple moments full of giggles, and quiet moments full of tears. We learn that puke is part of life, and bananas smeared as hair gel can be too.

But what about the paths that slowly or abruptly shut down? Because if we're honest with ourselves, whether you're single with no children, single with children, or married with or without children, CHILDREN close paths, just as they open them.

I overheard the following from the married with no children crowd here at work just recently:
"I would never take my young kids on a cruise."

Social graces and comprehension about appropriate things to say are completely different AFTER you have children. This married with none doesn't quite understand the following:

1. Young kids deserve to have fun, as well.
2. Parents who can afford to give such an incredible gift are overjoyed at the thought of their children's reaction.
3. Regardless of what you think you would or wouldn't do right NOW, it's not your place to pass casual judgment on someone else's choice of entertainment for their child. If your judgment is well-placed and with good intentions for the safety of your friend, then by all means proceed with caution. If not? Shut up.

"Man, you've got...some sickly kiddos. What's with that immune system?"


What else don't they understand?

4. Just because a child gets sick, doesn't mean they're sickly.
5. By saying such a thing, it's actually a bit of an insult to the parent who routinely tries to keep their child from dying on a daily basis.
6. Kids get germs from every place imaginable because they go to and touch every place imaginable. That's life. They're building their immune system.

On a more serious note, what happens when people near and dear to you slowly, OR suddenly, close paths. Intentionally do or say things that clearly warrant you taking extra moments of hesitation before gracing them again with your children's presence?

While we know that some of our single friends fall off the wagon when we get hitched, it's always sad. Same goes for our childless friends when we start bringing snot-nosed hoodlums under our roof. We just reach different stages of life at different times, and while we respect one another's decisions, we also understand that what were once mutual interests are no longer. If we're lucky, we grow slowly but respectfully on our separate paths and maintain a distant connection that we both remember fondly.

But I have to ask - don't you have a small list of people that you thought you'd never separate from? People whose paths might always be slightly different but the cords connecting you had a strength where mutual respect and acceptance would always be in tact? These are the people who you thought would always admire your children when everyone else called them sickly, would talk through relationship rough spots with maturity and wisdom even if they'd never been married.

What happens when these paths close?

I don't know about you, but when this happened to me, I was left with my brows furrowed, my face long, and an unsettling sadness growing inside me. I was wanted, that was clear. My friendship. But what comes along with me, not so much.

And what's even harder is when it's echoed by others, those who are supposed to always support and love the growing family. Family. Maybe some don't understand that their ever-vocal presence of opinions can become deep-rooted memories. Maybe they're kidding, maybe they're just tired that day. But when you state more than once that you prefer not to have my hoodlums around, be certain you will not have them around.

For a very long time.

I like to think I'm reasonable. I like to think I can see my children's faults. And I like to believe if they were truly awful little creatures, I'd be upset and furiously trying to improve their social deficits.

They aren't. They are 1, 3, and 7. They're loud, they have fun, they sometimes cry, they're children.

And they're part of me now. Does that mean I desert my friendships and always drag them behind me? No. But when I always have to make that choice to leave them behind to see you, part of me will never be present with you. Because I'll know you don't accept all of me, even if you never see that curly-headed side of me again. And that makes me sad.

Because they're pretty fantastic.