Her saddest child.
I don’t know who said it, but dang it if it isn’t true.
When all 5 of my children are happy (not necessarily ecstatic about life, but you know, content and satisfied), it’s fairly easy for me to follow suit. Life is good. But when one of those 5 precious souls is bogged down with sadness, I go there. And I go there quickly.
Is this just the natural state of motherhood? Has it always been this way? Were our great-great grandmothers similarly dependent on the vagaries of their offsprings’ mood swings or were they too busy hand washing clothes and darning socks to worry about why little Edith seems down? Something tells me that they didn’t so fully take on their children’s issues and make them their own. But maybe I’m wrong.
I do know that the fathers I’ve observed seem more a master of their ship, less likely to be rocked by the waves in their children’s lives. A father is only as happy as his saddest child? Hmm, maybe. Growing up, my own father, who in my later years was a single parent, could calmly read the newspaper while any number of family dramas exploded around him. His stock answer to my teenaged woes? “It’s good for you.” Occasionally followed by, “Is this your time of the month?”
So how do we, as mothers, strike a balance? How do we love and cheerlead and support without being pulled under ourselves? I currently have a child frantically treading water and I’d love to know…….