文章讲述了作者在不同时期两次与父母同住的经历，以及从中获得的感悟。第一次是在疫情初期，作者带着新生儿与父母同住，度过了一段充满挑战但又温馨的时光。第二次是作者的丈夫在芝加哥找到新工作后，作者带着两个孩子暂时与父母同住。通过这两次经历，作者体会到向家人寻求帮助并非弱点，而是增强育儿韧性的方式，并认识到家庭支持在育儿过程中的重要性。文章强调了“家庭”可以呈现出多种形式，并分享了与父母共同生活的快乐与感动。

🏡 作者分享了自己两次与父母同住的经历，第一次是在疫情初期，带着新生儿与父母同住；第二次是丈夫找到新工作后，带着两个孩子暂时与父母同住。

🤝 作者在与父母同住期间，得到了来自父母在生活和情感上的支持，比如帮忙做饭、照顾孩子、分担家务等。作者体会到，向家人寻求帮助并非弱点，而是一种韧性的体现。

👨‍👩‍👧‍👦 作者意识到，家庭可以提供一种“村庄”式的育儿支持，减轻了独自带孩子的压力。即使是祖父母辈，也可以在育儿过程中发挥重要作用，共同创造温馨的家庭氛围。

❤️ 作者认为，与父母同住的经历是充满挑战但又美好的。虽然会有摩擦，但最终都能找到适合的相处方式。作者也表达了对即将搬离父母家的不舍，以及对这段经历的怀念。

My husband and I lived with my parents when we had our first kid, and now, I live with them again. He started a new job in Chicago, and our two kids and I are living with them before we join him.I'm learning that it's not a weakness to ask for support, as they help me with coparenting tasks.

This spring, I moved back in with my parents. Again.

The first time was early in the pandemic, when my daughter was a newborn and the world felt like a terrifying science experiment. We had been living in Brooklyn, and when the hospital barred partners from delivery rooms, we started calling doctors, midwives, anyone who might deliver our baby in the rural town in New Jersey where my parents live. Nobody was interested: it was a pandemic.

Finally, my mom begged her own doctor, who said yes. True New Yorkers, we didn't have a car. My dad picked us up in his little red one, which we packed the car with diapers, onesies, and our desperate hopes. We thought we'd stay for two weeks. We stayed for five months.

That time was a blur of fear, early parenthood fog, and endless coffee, made every morning by my dad, who claims this is the secret to my parents' 40-year marriage.

We walked the baby in loops around the neighborhood, discovering a covered bridge across the river and a nature path that looped around the local playground. We watched old movies. I yelled at my dad for finishing a jigsaw puzzle we were supposed to do together. It was chaos. It was unexpectedly sweet. It was our version of making it work.

I'm back under their roof again — now, with two kids

Now I'm back, but this time I have two kids, ages 3 and 5. My husband recently started a new job in Chicago, and while we search for a home and finish the school year, the kids and I are here in New Jersey with my mom and dad.

I braced myself for stress. For tight quarters, intergenerational friction, the awkwardness of not really having my own kitchen. (Why are there three opened jars of Dijon mustard in the fridge? Who knows? Not me.) I was preparing for the grind of solo parenting without the solo space.

But what I got instead surprised me: a crash course in co-parenting. A soft, sometimes messy, always helpful reminder that parenting doesn't have to be a two-person — or one-person — job.

I realized I don't have to do it alone while I'm living with them

My mom makes lunches and snacks and champions the "car bagel" every school morning. She helps with laundry and is always ready to distract a cranky kid with a game of Chutes & Ladders, a hunk of cheddar, or both.

My dad reads bedtime stories in his big, cozy voice. He's taken over bike lessons — my daughter is almost ready to try to ride training-wheel free — and has become fluent in the nuanced language of playground drama. ("No, Zadie, Sammy is the one with the orange shorts. The other one is mean.")

There's something both vulnerable and liberating about relinquishing control. About letting other grown-ups take the reins without needing everything to be done my way. It's not just logistical help (though, wow, it's amazing to take a shower without three interruptions). It's emotional support. It's feeling like I'm not parenting in a vacuum.

Living together is teaching me what a 'village' can look like

My parents aren't perfect. Neither am I. But somehow, in this full house of Goldfish crumbs and "Moana" many times over, we've landed on a rhythm that works. It turns out, "the village" doesn't have to be a mythical concept or a Pinterest fantasy. Sometimes it's just your parents down the hall, quietly loading the dishwasher while you collapse onto the couch.

I've learned that letting people help is an act of trust. That asking for support isn't weakness — it's resilience. That family can look like a lot of things: one big house, three generations, and a nightly debate about who tucks in and who checks in with a kiss five minutes later (not four, not six).

In a few weeks, we'll move into our new life in Chicago. I'll miss the unexpected closeness of this time. The way my kids light up when they (plus their stuffy sidekicks) see their grandparents first thing in the morning. The way my dad makes me coffee, even when I forget to ask.

This season has been exhausting and beautiful and loud. It's reminded me that parenting, at its best, is never a solo act. It's a chorus — sometimes off-key, often out of sync, but somehow perfectly imperfect.