Parenting the Child You Have, Not the One You Imagined
When I was pregnant with Jessica, I had the whole thing pictured. She’d love storybooks, wear bows that matched every outfit, and say “please” and “thank you” like a tiny Southern debutante. We’d sit together doing crafts while I sipped coffee and she neatly glued sequins onto paper hearts. (I can practically hear y’all laughing already.)
Then she arrived — a brown-haired firecracker with opinions as strong as her daddy’s and the patience of, well, none. Crafts? Sure, as long as glue could go on her hands. Or her sister. Or the dog.
And then came Jenna — my sweet little blonde whirlwind who, in my mind, would be calm and quiet, maybe even nap occasionally. Instead, she came out talking and hasn’t stopped since. She narrates everything. If she’s not asking “why,” she’s explaining how something works (even if she’s completely wrong) with the confidence of a seasoned TED Talk speaker.
I thought I’d have these two little girls who were best friends — sharing toys, giggling over tea parties, whispering secrets, and watching out for each other like something out of a Hallmark movie. And don’t get me wrong, there are moments when that dream peeks through. Like when they play well together, share without me setting Alexa timers to remind them, or when Jenna picks all the same things as Jessica because she wants to be just like her big sister. Every now and then, Jessica will slow down enough to help Jenna zip her jacket, giving me one glorious extra moment to find my purse and pretend I’ve got my life together.
But for every one of those moments, there are twenty more where I’m questioning all my life choices. The ones where they both want the same toy — the only toy apparently in existence. The ones where they want to be in the same room together. Then don’t. Then do again, but only if the other promises not to look at her, talk to her, or breathe too loud. Suddenly I’m refereeing an MMA match in the living room while trying to cook dinner, get the dog outside before he has an accident, answer a text from my husband asking what’s for dinner (bless it), direct the repairman fixing the dishwasher, and yell “Just a minute!” to whoever’s knocking at the door.
It’s chaos. Beautiful, exhausting chaos.
It took me a while to realize I was mourning this invisible version of motherhood I’d made up — the one where my kids fit perfectly into my expectations and life unfolded like a Pinterest board. But real parenting? It’s raw and humbling and unpredictable.
I had to learn to stop trying to make my kids into who I thought they’d be — and start really seeing who they already are.
Jessica isn’t the soft-spoken little girl I pictured; she’s brave, bold, and a natural leader. She’s the one who’ll dive headfirst into the pool before the lifeguard’s whistle even sounds. Jenna isn’t the calm, quiet type — she’s funny, imaginative, and can talk Nugget into being a “dragon” during their backyard adventures. (Poor dog has seen things.)
The truth is, the children we imagined were perfect for our dreams. But the children we have are perfect for us. They stretch us, teach us, and challenge every part of who we thought we were — and in doing so, they make us better.
So here’s to parenting the child you have — not the one in your head, the one in your friend’s Instagram post, or the one from that parenting book that swore “five easy steps” would make bedtime peaceful (lies, all lies).
Here’s to parenting your wild, wonderful, perfectly imperfect child.
Because when we stop trying to shape them into someone else, we finally get to see the magic of who they already are — mismatched socks, messy rooms, and all.
Sending love (and maybe an extra coffee) to all the mamas learning this right along with me.
❤️ Jamie
Tags: #ParentingTheChildYouHave #MomLife #GeorgiaMom #RealMomMoments #PlanItMom #PlanItMomUS #SouthernMamaLife #MomHumor #MomOfGirls
