Great Expectations

I subconsciously carried many things with me when I got pregnant and most of them were expectations. My personal expectations for myself as a parent were both lofty and unrealistic. I inaccurately estimated nearly everything from how hard it would be to breastfeed to inadequately mastering cloth diapers. In addition to the expectations I had in my own role, I had them for Andy, too, in his role as a father. If you've been reading along with me, you'll know that he and I butt heads a great deal about these unmet expectations.

I expected we'd agree more on how to parent the kids.

I expected that we'd share the mental load.

I expected that my own career wouldn't fall second to Andy's and that we both would always be willing to say no to others so that we could say yes to the kids.

He expected me to have the same professional drive after the kids as I'd had before.

He expected me to seamlessly manage the home load and the work load, and perhaps even happily.

He expected to me to cook food that was edible.

And so it goes.

In any relationship, we want so much from others and we expect even more from ourselves. The stakes within our families is often even higher. As children, we expect everything from our parents, putting them on a pedestal, causing us years of therapy when we realize they aren't super human. As spouses, we expect, and never stop expecting, anything, ever. of one another. Those expectations become shape-shifters, morphing with us as we grow and shift, sometimes so quickly that we can't keep track of what was wanted of us or what we ourselves wanted. Families get complicated when kids enter the picture, as we layer the expectations for each role we play.

Yes, then there are the children.

For every expectation I had for myself or Andy, I held even more for my kids. I didn't mean to, and I really wish I didn't, but it's a little hard not to. I expected things from Caro and Char before they were even born. My incubating little humans were going to stop my loneliness, give me constant gratification, and a never-ending sense of purpose. Most importantly, they would be living, breathing pride makers, living out my dreams and maybe even surpassing my great expectations.

Huh. Turns out having kids has, at many times, made me feel very lonely. Turns out I'm not always gratified by them and, as a matter of fact, I can get incredibly frustrated with them. Turns out there have been day upon day that I have questioned just what in the hell I am doing and if I was even supposed to be a mother.

There's a lot riding on children. They are just trying to be people and then people need them to be the best person before they even know what kind of person they want to be. Because I had all of these expectations for what parenthood would be like, I felt myself crumble time and again, when the kids were little. In particular, as Caroline shifted from toddler to preschool age, I struggled immensely as she failed to meet my, and others' expectations. As one person after another mentioned her out of control behavior, my expectations for myself plummeted and my shame became my shadow. As the months went on, she stopped checking all of the developmental boxes and, after what felt like an eternity, we learned we had a new list, from which we would check off a completely different set of boxes.

Mingled with my grief was resilience and, with a diagnosis, I was able to set new expectations for Caro and all of the players, and we now have a lot of players involved in Caroline's life. Between managing work, my marriage and the kids, I have little time now to even think about that old list of expectations and what we want from Caroline veers from what other parents want from their neurotypical kids. There are similar foundational expectations. We all want our kids to eat well, brush their teeth and yes, wash their hands after using the bathroom, to name a few.

However, some days I actually take a look outside of my bubble and see that the kiddos around me are growing up. They are becoming their best selves, following their dreams as living, breathing pride makers. They are discovering their passions and testing their limits. They excel academically, musically, or artistically. They play instruments, have melodic voices, and hone their skills as athletes or actors. They win spelling bees and participate in Odyssey of the Mind and Battle of the Books. They read four levels above their age and make Varsity sports teams in middle school. And their parents expect them to.

It is my actual, paid job to help young adults channel their skills and abilities into decisions about their future careers and I thrive on watching students flourish and use their early wins and lessons as a springboard for a lifetime of success. I am not jealous of the children outside of my bubble and I'm not wishing I were their parent. I would be lying, though, if I said that I didn't sometimes wish I still had that old list and could share these expectations for Caroline.

But I don't and to be honest, again, I am not even sure what to expect. Her disability is rare and I truly don't even know what we can expect of her and her future. This helps keep us very grounded in the here and now and each day.

Like today. Today was the first day of Caroline's fifth camp of the summer. She has cried on the first day of each one, even the camp at her riding barn that is four houses down from our own. Dropping Caroline off to any first day of anything is painful and has historically been so. The shame shadow grows long on these days and I feel angry at her for not being a quick transitioner, and more angry at myself for expecting more of her than she has to give. Yet, Andy and I have agreed that we will do everything we can to push Caroline out of her comfort zone and integrate her into activities with other kids.

Success in these situations includes as much preparation as possible and this camp was no exception. It is a three hour drive for us and Caroline and I made the trip this spring. We toured the camp and visited with the Director. I asked 100 questions. I was in touch with the camp director and camp nurse on many occasions. I read and re-read the parent guide. She and I talked a lot about the camp and looked at videos online.

Despite all of my preparation, when I looked at her packing list two days ago, I realized she was missing a bunch of stuff, including boots. For six grueling hours yesterday, with Charlotte in tow, we drove an hour to civilization and went to every store imaginable. I felt like I was acting out Goldilocks with her. Box after box, each pair was either too small or too big. I got sweatier and sweatier as I threw open boxes, shoving shoes onto her feet. I said fu@k more times in those six hours than I'd said all week and I insisted that we would not go home without boots. Finally, she begrudgingly mumbled a yes to a pair and I whipped them into the cart, along with whatever the hell paid of shoes Charlotte wanted, because what else was I to do?

This morning I ran around in a panic, throwing last minute items into her bags while she watched her iPad. In an alternate universe, there may be a parent who'd expect their pre-teen to pack her own bag but again, that's not on our checklist unless I wanted to drive three hours to open her bag and find thirty toy horses, a dozen pens and notepads and no clothing. At least she was ready and we left on time. The ride was quiet. She slept and asked fifty times when we'd stop for food. About thirty minutes from camp she mentioned she was nervous. Here we go, I thought. I asked her how I could help. I held out my hand for her to hold. She groaned, "Mom!" and pushed my hand away.

The Director has suggested we show up at 1 pm. When we drove up the long dirt path to the camp at 12:45, I expected to see tons of cars. I expected parents and girls to be swarming the camp and long lines. I expected to have no idea where to go. I expected Caroline to start tearing up.

Instead, we were greeted by two friendly counselors who welcomed us with big smiles. We were early, as official check in was at 2 pm. Caroline smiled and hugged her stuffed horse. We waited for the time to count down by watching the counselors who were in a circle,not far from us, doing cheers, giggling before entering the camp yurts.

At 1 pm, we were the first to check in. All of the staff greeted Caroline as though they knew her. The Assistant Director walked us to her yurt and one of the counselors walked us to our car and helped us carry Caroline's bags. Then she invited me to take a walk with her to the water's edge so she could hear more about Caro's goals for the week. She reassured me that my kid was in good hands and would have an excellent stay. I thanked her and quickly headed back to the yurt, expecting the tears. Instead, I found Caroline in the middle of the yurt, coloring her name on a piece of paper and telling her counselors about her love of horses. She had a huge smile on her face. She let me hug her and even obliged when I asked if I could take her photo. I said good bye and that was it. I slipped back into my car, waving at the counselors as I went.

Almost immediately, as I drove the winding, country road back, a feeling in my gut rose up, filling my chest, my shoulders and my neck. I let out a huge sob and my shoulders drew in and down. I couldn't believe how kind and accommodating the staff were and how comfortable I felt leaving Caro in their care. I believe they invited us to come early to avoid the chaos and bustle that could have overwhelmed Caroline. But mostly, I felt proud. I hadn't expected the drop off to be so easy and I was very proud of Caroline for her bravery and her courage. Leaving home for an overnight camp is scary and this one is for ten days. She will likely know no one. She will have to learn how to make friends, manage her schedule and participate in lots of physical activity. It will certainly challenge her and she will step up to the challenge each time.

Like in all other relationships, our expectations as parent and child will shape-shift as we grow and change. We have so much more to expect in the future.

And while I do not know what Caroline's future holds, I do know this: she will exceed my expectations over and over again.