I stand in line along with everyone else, staring down at pristine sneakers, my hand brushing up lightly against the nylon of new backpack straps. My skin prickles with tension. I look up at the room number again to be sure I’m in the right place. It’s the first day of preschool. I’m new at this and I don’t want to get it wrong.
I smile down at my daughter Bethany as her teacher approaches.
I can’t mess it up for her, I think. She’s counting on me. I’m her mom.
It has been more than eight years since that day and I’ve messed up more than once due to ignorance. It’s the burden of every firstborn: living with the mistakes mom makes because it’s her first time through too.
As a first-time mom I couldn’t know that fall soccer signup happens in April, of all times. And so my child is the one who joins the team a season late.
As a first time mom I drop my daughter off for a birthday party at a big arcade and return two hours later to pick her up only to learn all of the other parents stayed for the party. My daughter spends the afternoon tagging along with another mom and child, while the other kids enjoy the company of their own parents.
Being a classroom parent and going on field trips means being the first in line during open house to get to the signup sheet. But it’s my first time with an elementary school child, so I’m not aware of this strategy. I miss out on chaperoning that year.
I naively coach my firstborn through her school projects, insisting she complete the work on her own with crayons and markers. And then I see her contribution looking dilapidated next to computer-printed, full-color layouts with neat diagrams and stock photos.
And so it goes, year after year. Blunder after goof after mistake.
Now my firstborn is in middle school. She’s taken ownership of learning the ropes herself, maybe because she’s learned how inept mom can be sometimes. She’s coping well. She hasn’t been scarred by my mistakes. If anything, she’s learned from them. And I think I’ve learned too.
Before she had finished fifth grade I’d already begun grilling mothers of middle-schoolers about what I should know for sixth grade. In fact, by springtime I was rather proud of myself: I knew about the big “Middle Ages” project and how all the students dress in character for their presentation. I knew about this long before my daughter did. Her costume was bought and hanging in the closet ahead of time. But the teachers changed the project requirements to make the costume optional. Instead of being the only one without a costume, she was one of the few who delivered her speech in medieval attire.
It’s hard the first time through anything with a child. And remembering your childhood isn’t much help. You think you know how things should be, but then they’re not. There’s no getting around being a first-time mom.
My husband comes to me after dropping Bethany off at her first youth group lock-in. “Almost all of the other kids had sleeping bags and pillows,” he says. “I offered to go home and get hers, but she didn’t want it.”
I sigh, wondering when I’ll be done making mistakes on my firstborn – probably never. But that’s OK. Every mom is a first-time mom. Every mom learns the ropes by making mistakes, some big and some small. Someday Bethany may have a child of her own. And it will be her turn to make the first-time mom mistakes.
Lara Krupicka is a freelance writer who’s thankful to get second and third chances with her two younger daughters.
