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- When I got pregnant with my second child, I realized having help would be critical for my family.Though we have different parenting styles, my in-laws have always been supportive.They asked to take my kids on an RV trip this summer, and I didn't hesitate to give permission.
I used to be the mom who wanted to control — or "optimize" — every aspect of her child's day. Like many other attentive millennial mothers, I learned the differences between my baby's cries, the "perfect balance" of wake time and rest time, and the signs of an imminent bowel movement.
I went through this education mostly on my own, tracking through apps and mentally logging the information in my exhausted brain. Meanwhile, my husband worked long hours remotely during the first year of our child's life in a small apartment in New York City.
Once our family moved out of the big city to a small town and I found myself pregnant again, I knew I needed to do things differently the second time around — I wanted to avoid the pitfalls of postpartum anxiety and depression and build a supportive village.
Enter my in-laws.
My in-laws have a different parenting style than we do
They're of the boomer generation, live two hours away, and are genuinely good people, with true hearts of gold. However, because of the generational divide (and, thus, variation in parenting styles), there have been moments of tension as my husband and I have navigated integrating our established families into our developing one.
It's a tedious thing to invite your parents into the fold of your household's daily rhythm, particularly when you and your spouse are making decisions that stray from their own. In the beginning, it was a challenge for me to relinquish any facet of care. I became a "helicopter" parent, batting off any influence that I feared would "ruin" my kids' development. I kept my baby close because I had such profound anxiety surrounding my child's emotional and physical well-being.
As my daughter grew into a toddler, I began to loosen my grip, relaxing the control I had over every aspect of her daily life. My mother-in-law, retired and delighted to be asked to help out with childcare, was a godsend, arriving with an open heart when needed.
However, there were times when she'd offer processed foods or provide ample screen time to our then-2-year-old. I was offended initially, but after some time, I realized that my expectations of her were unrealistic, and my skepticism that she had some sort of ulterior motive wasn't rooted in truth. She'd also raised two children — two wonderful human beings — one of whom I'd chosen to marry, and she cared for my daughter with that same incredible love and attention, in her own way.
They're taking my kids on an RV trip this summer, and it'll be good for everyone
Now, I have two small children — both girls, 3 and 5 — so when my mother-in-law asked if they could spend a few days with them in their RV in a nearby town this summer, I agreed, without hesitation.
Of course, I will always be a little unnerved by our generational differences, which tend to surface via casual remarks, specifically surrounding gender roles, politics, or faith. But I've arrived at this: it is important that I allow my children to experience that precious (and time-sensitive) one-on-one time with my husband's parents — their grandparents.
Not to mention, my husband has waxed for years about fond memories of taking RV trips with his mother's parents, both of whom passed away years ago.
Recently, I asked him what he remembered about all those camping trips, and I was surprised to learn that he didn't remember any notable landmarks, any final destinations, or any geographical specifics.
What he did remember was the smell of his Granny and Paw-Paw's RV — that same overpowering smell of phthalates that transported him back in time whenever he entered his parents' new RV. He remembered the taste of egg salad sandwiches, Pepsi, and plain potato chips. He remembered the countless card games — Uno and Skip-Bo — that occurred nightly at sunset. He remembered perusing the collection of Rand McNally road atlases, relics of pre-Internet days. He remembered the deep tenor of his Paw-Paw's voice and the unsteadiness of his Granny's.
Above all, he remembered that trips with his grandparents were never about the final destination: they were always about the journey, as cliché as that sounds. They were always about spending time with each other.
Sure, my in-laws may give my kids more sugary foods than I do. They may let them stay up way past their bedtime. They may allow them to watch all the movies and shows they want. But, in my opinion, these are not deal-breakers. They're not reasons to disallow my children an experience that will live on, sweetly, in their memories long after their grandparents are gone. Because, at the end of the day, all that matters is that my children are safe, fed, and loved.
I'm looking forward to the experience for them — and I'm looking forward to the break I'll get from caregiving.
I'm sure I'll write about them while they're away.
