If you’re following along on BurntToast’s social media (which why the heck aren’t you?) you probably know that my son had a major accident a few weeks ago. I got a terrifying call from the school after a crazy freak accident and while I will spare you the long and gory details, I can tell you, when I walked into the school and saw his little face, battered and bruised and bleeding, it took everything I had in my weak old bones to keep from breaking down into hysterics right there. With just one glance I knew it was bad, but as the evening unfolded, I realized it was much much worse than just a few little cuts.
What began with a visit to Urgent Care expecting some stitches and a concussion check quickly morphed into a scary scene in the ER where doctors and nurses swept my vomiting child away and began prepping him for IV’s and treating him for a potential brain injury and shouting things like “brain bleed” and “emergency facial surgery” to each other. All while I stood there helpless, watching it unfold in front of me like a scary scene from a movie where I couldn’t press “STOP.”
And what you have to understand, friends, is that not once did I cry. Not once did I panic. I barely talked above a whisper and I don’t even think I drove over the speed limit, despite the urgency of the situation. Which is all well and good, except that my actual nature lends itself more to “freak the f-out” in any type of stressful scenario. See a spider in the house? You can bet I’m stripping off my clothes and scratching my head and threatening to burn the house down. A minor inconvenience in my life like, say, a traffic jam? The slew of not fit for print words that will roll out of my mouth in rapid-fire at volume ten is mind-blowing.
But in this situation, where we weren’t sure if my child’s life was on the line, I was cool as a cucumber.
I am not unique. This was not a superhero power of mine. I’m not bulletproof and I am not stronger than the average mom. In fact, this same steely calm is on the face of every single parent, from the operating area waiting rooms to the halls of the ER. There are parents who go through much, much worse than what I did, parents who send their child to chemo or who walk into that empty conference room knowing the news will not be good. There are parents who cry in the chapel and there are parents who excuse themselves to the bathroom to lose their mind in solitude.
But still, the overwhelming experience is calm. Despite the undeniable river of emotion flowing underneath the surface, the overall experience is calm. It’s shocking actually, how few freak outs there are. When Connor was six months old and we had to watch a nurse carry him back for his first surgery, I had visions of myself chasing after her, tugging on his legs and screaming. I’m quite dramatic, after all, and I imagined making a scene. Instead, I was calm. I let her take him. The only thing I did was kiss his little baby cleft lip for the last time and watch her carry him off.
This is parenthood, people. THIS RIGHT HERE is parenthood.
It is acting opposite of almost every natural instinct. It is surviving through what, prior to kids, would have seemed insurmountable and terrifying and would leave you dissolved in a puddle of your own tears on the floor. It’s putting someone else first. Even when that someone rolls their eyes at you, makes a game out of your muffin top and leaves their socks all over the house. It is mothers who lift cars off of trapped children and fathers who run into burning buildings to save their child. Parenthood goes against almost every human instinct we have.
Y’all, this is love.
Love is putting someone else first, no matter what. It’s exhausted mothers of newborns who still wake up and feed that baby every three hours. It’s mothers of toddlers who allow another human to sit on their lap and pull at their hair while they go to the bathroom. It’s PTA moms devoting hours and hours of unpaid time to make their child’s school better. It’s working moms working countless hours away from their babies to make sure they are provided for. It’s Dads coaching t-ball teams and moms baking cookies for bake sales. It’s parents creating foundations after watching their child battle a serious illness. It’s countless hours playing underpaid and disrespected Uber drivers to your child and their friends.
Parenting is love in the flesh.
After Connor’s accident, his teacher said to me, “You were so calm.” But the truth is, I wasn’t calm. I was a mess. But I had to act calm because my child needed me at that moment. He needed me to say “You’re going to be ok. Mommy’s here. It’s ok.” He needed me to have a clear head to drive him to the hospital. He needed me more than I needed to lose my mind.
And that’s the crux of it. There’s so much out there that tells you how to parent, when to put them to bed and how many hours of sleep they should get, when to give them a phone and what healthy foods to feed them. There are books and websites and experts to remind us of what we’re doing wrong, all of the time. We walk around with mom guilt because we work too many hours at a job we hate but need and we walk around with mom guilt because we don’t work outside of the house and we wonder how that is going to affect our daughters’ views of women’s rights. We literally feel guilty for everything.
But there aren’t too many things out there telling us this: You’re doing it right. 
When you’re volunteering at school but your house looks like a bomb exploded in it and your kids are wearing dirty socks. Parents-you’re doing it right. When you’re being the meanest mom on the face of the planet because your child is the only kid in the entire school without TickTok. Parents-you’re doing it right. When you stay up for hours cutting out letters for your kid’s student council campaign poster they forgot was due. Parents-you’re doing it right. When you’re taking a break to care for yourself because you’re burnt out and overwhelmed and eye roll away from a massive blow-up. Parents-you’re doing it right.
Parenting is 1 million little things and a few huge ones. It’s the unseen sacrifices and behind the scenes dirty work. It’s the hard stuff and the beautiful stuff and everything in between.
The biggest and most important act of parenting you commit is to simply love them. That’s it. Our parents were busy drinking TAB soda and sending us outside to play so they could watch their afternoon shows. And you know what? They were doing it right. Parents today spend hours and hours and hours making sure their child’s emotional and social and psychological and physical and academic needs are being met. And you know what? They’re doing it right too.
Those TAB drinking moms of the 1980’s. They loved their kids. They really did. Times were different and parenting wasn’t as intense, but they loved them. Parents of today where the decision on where to place your child for pre-school seems to be so uber-important that it will make or break their educational career (PSA: it won’t). They love their kids too. 
The key to parenting isn’t the decisions you make, it’s the love you give. It’s putting your kids first when they need it and staying calm even though inside you’re dying. It’s doing the best you can do with all the tools you have in your toolbox and loving them enough to know when they need you to invest in a new tool because the old ones aren’t working.
Your kids know how much you love them. Trust me, they do. Even if they’re telling you, to your face, that you are the worst and that you clearly favor their sibling because their sibling got a bigger slice of cake at dinner, they know you love them. They’re not really sweating the small stuff. They want the bedtime kisses and the morning cuddles and mom and dad to be there when they need them. The bigger things we worry about, whether we’re letting them down by not being present enough or overwhelming them by helping them with everything under the sun, they’re not even on their radar.
Love them in the best way you can with what you have at the moment and they will know it. I promise.
So today, no matter what challenge you’re facing with your child, no matter how big that mountain in front of you seems to be, you’re doing it right. You were equipped to fight this battle alongside your child and you are given every last thing you need to be the parent he needs at that very moment, even if you don’t think you are. This is love, my friends.
And as for parenting, you’re doing it right.
Peace, love and, well, love,
Meg
PS: Just in case you were wondering Connor is fine. He has had a long road to recovery from the concussion, those are seriously no joke. And his face, which originally looked like he had gotten into a pretty serious fight and lost, looks amazing. It’s healed beautifully and he looks just like the handsome kid he has always been. Kids are so remarkably resilient and don’t get near enough credit for how well they bounce back from adversity.
Welcome to BurntToast! My name is Meaghan, and this is my safe space, a place where we can share stories, share recipes and share life. It’s my dream that you can come here, kick your shoes off and pour yourself a glass of wine while you read, laugh, and maybe even hop into the kitchen. This is my heart, for all of you to see. And ALL are welcome here.