Nobody warns you that parenting is an Extreme Sport.  There’s no waiver to sign, no warning labels of potential hazards, and no markers indicating the extreme level of difficulty you’re about to face.  And when your beloved family and friends offer gifts at your baby shower in preparation for your adventure, nobody gives you what you really need – a helmet and shoulder pads for your heart!  There is no training for the intense thrill ride of parenting and the courage required along the way.  Because the truth is, that in stepping onto the lifetrack of motherhood, you will careen up and down the steep slopes of life’s obstacles with the threat of constant danger around every bend with only your instincts to guide you.  You will constantly teeter on the edge of that delicate balance of letting go and holding on to your precious child, alternating between the emotional highs of pure joy and the crippling anxiety of responsibility.  And even with all of that, you’ll be grateful for every day of the journey.

I vividly remember coming home from the hospital carrying our tiny baby girl across the threshold of our new life.  The newfound love and joy was blindsiding in its intensity.  I held her tightly and gazed into her eyes. But then a panicky feeling hit me: Now what do I do with her?  So I handed her to my husband, who sat and gazed into her eyes and felt the deep love as well.  And then his eyes started darting around the room and I could tell he was having the same thought as I did: Now what do I do with her?  Naturally, he handed her back to me.  We were both suddenly faced with the reality that neither of us had any idea what the heck we were doing and, yet, we were totally responsible for the well being of this vulnerable precious life, now and forever forward.

Just as in Extreme Sports competitions, they should give out fancy medals to the victors.  Every parent would have a trophy case filled to the brim as a testament to the level of courage and expertise required. “Ah, and here is the medal for not taking my child to the ER every time her fever spiked.” “And here is my trophy for not calling the police every time we hadn’t heard from her while she was out with her friend.”  “And the ribbon up there?  Well, that was for not getting a background check on her Freshman year romantic interest, the guy with the weird tattoo.”  I remember well the time my daughter got in a fender bender as a new driver.  I wanted to permanently grab the keys and never let her drive again.  Did she know how lucky she was that no one was hurt?  Does she know how distracted other drivers can be and that some people drink and drive?  Had she any idea how her life or ours could change in the blink of an eye with a terrible tragedy?  Yet, I did as every parent does.  I dug down deep into the well of bravery that needs constant replenishment.  I comforted her, handed her the keys, and let her drive home.  I did my best to beat back the terror inside me and avoid stoking the flames of fear that were already smoldering inside her.  

And just like with any Extreme Sport, as soon as you master one degree of difficulty, you’ve moved on to the next. Just as we got the Elementary School challenge under control, she gradutes to Middle School.  And with every passing year it feels like the stakes get ever higher.  A total surprise to me is how, even now, with my daughters both in their early 20’s, I am terrified at times.  They are making life decisions that have such important consequences – life partners, career moves, what city they want to set their roots down in. How I miss the days when the choices to worry about were what level of Math to put them in or dance class to sign them up for.

Thank goodness we get their whole lives to train and develop, giving us time to learn and grow as mothers. It takes years of experience to make the decisions around when to listen to the parenting advice or trust our own gut instead, when to step back and when to step in.  It also takes time and experience to learn how to trust your child and listen when they tell you what they need.  Especially now, when they actually know more and have more experience in many areas than I do!  And over the years, you also learn to live with the injuries that accumulate in this sporting life.  Like the scarring on my tongue from appropriately biting it so often.  And the bruising of my ego when they confront my distorted sense of reality.  And, of course, the traumatic brain injury from banging my head on the wall with the mistakes I make over and over again.

Parenting is an extreme sport, there is no doubt.  And let me just be clear at how lucky I know that I am in being blessed with two daughters who were patient, forgiving, and taught me all along the way and who built my trust as I let them earn it.  And how lucky I am to have such fabulous teammates who supported my training – a fabulous partner in parenting who bore the brunt of a lot of estrogen, family and friends who shared their compassion and wisdom as I fell down and had to pull myself back up, and my kid’s friends who gave me insight and critical insider information (carpools are awesome!).  

And of course, a thank you to my own mother, who I miss more with every passing day.  It’s so hard to get perspective on what it is to feel a mother’s love until it is no longer available.  I am grateful for the memories of how she loved me and the values she left within me.  One of the most beautiful gifts she ever gave me was telling me that even better than being my mother was watching me be a mother.  

There is no offseason for parenting.  There is no retiring or hanging up your equipment to safely recall the glory days in your ever increasingly distant memory.  And to be honest, I thank goodness. We will forever be the Mother “in the arena , whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; whos strives valiantly.” We can only assume Theodore Roosevelt’s mother, Mittie, was his inspiration.