One of the most common pieces of advice doled out to young parents by more seasoned ones is to “savor every moment.” We’ve heard this so often that it’s morphed into a joke we reach for in our most desperate moments. Baby pee all over your hands? Savor it! On your third hour of listening to her shriek like a banshee? Savor it! So sleep-deprived you stubbed your toe and dropped your breakfast at the same time? Savor it!!
Despite it feeling like a platitude five months in, I do want to make the most of this short time with our first baby because I know it’s true: they grow incredibly slow, change incredibly fast, and they’re never the same person twice.
Realizing this truth makes things tricky because trying to savor often yields the opposite. You’re searching too much for the details you’ll want to remember. You’re behind the camera too often. You’re so anxious you’ll miss something you DO miss it. I’m realizing now that I can’t spend time thinking about the moments and days in retrospect. I need to just live and trust that my future self will remember what needs remembering. I need to distance myself from the longing of parents who’ve “finished the job,” even though they are full of wisdom.
I did love this conversation between Maya Shankar and Kelly Corrigan, who shares a more nuanced and poignant perspective on early motherhood and missing those years:
“…my husband Edward got up super early. He left at 6:00. And then at 6:01 when the door closed, Claire would pat over and jump in on one side. And at 6:30 Georgia would pat over and get in on the other side. And there was nowhere we had to be. And they were just on me. And I remember thinking, ‘I know this is special. I know this will end.’ This is what I wanted. This is what I didn't want to miss, right now, this feeling.”
Hearing her describe the other side of the journey with both yearning and acceptance is comforting. I know that if I’m lucky enough to make it to that point, I will feel the same way. She goes on to talk more about giving space, knowing her children have no obligations to her, and living with longing. It’s beautiful to listen to.
The end of the conversation got me thinking about what we owe our parents. It’s something I spent much of my 20s and now early 30s thinking about. I’ve had long stints of no contact with both parents at different times for reasons that are impossible to get into now. Her perspective is both beautiful and severe to me:
If there's any obligation from their end to me, then it can't be beautiful. It can just be the meeting of an obligation. If there's no obligation, and then you actually have time together, and you actually enjoy each other, and there's actually a nice flow between you... Then, it's beautiful. Somehow, you have to learn to relish giving it away with no expectation of return. Because then, if they return, when they return, when they love you back, when they crave you... It's magnificent.
As Maya points out earlier in the conversation, this perspective is deeply rooted in the non-immigrant understanding of family where multigenerational homes are rare and families are expected to split in young adulthood. In fact, it’s often a marker of success for the new generation.
As the sole daughter of immigrant parents, I feel the sense of obligation Maya and Kelly discuss, particularly towards my mother, who raised us in impossible circumstances, and only through the help of other women including her own mother. Yet our relationship has always been full of unresolved grief and longstanding disagreements. Even now, we rarely understand each other, despite our best attempts. It makes me wonder where my daughter and I will find ourselves in 20 or 30 years.
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