As you might have guessed from the longevity of this blog, I like to discuss parenting issues. I’ll compare notes with any parent, any time. I often find it’s the first area of common ground I establish with someone — do you have kids? If not, there’s always the default – do you have parents? It’s failsafe!
I remember one day in the waiting room of the pediatrician’s office, a mom and I compared our babies. Lucas was maybe six months old, Simon just turned four and a half, and we spent quite a while swapping anecdotes of the baby years. The funny thing was, her son was sitting beside her drowning her out with his iPod as he flipped through the latest Macleans. He must have been at the very top end of the age group for a pediatrician, maybe 15 or 16 — old enough to wear a trench coat and have stubble, anyway. But she blithely went on describing his various toddler exploits as if he were still in preschool. It was utterly charming, and only the tiniest bit creepy.
You know what really drives me bananas, though? I really hate it when parents of teens or adult children haul out that hoary old nugget: “Little kids, little problems; big kids, big problems.” I find that the most dismissive, patronizing, and downright annoying thing one parent can say to another. It’s even more annoying than the hyper-competitive mom who wants to make sure her baby is hitting all its milestones before yours, or the whole slacker-mom movement. (Really? Don’t get me started.)
I get what they’re saying, these condescending parents who diminish the daily struggles of life with little kids by insinuating that life with teenagers is so much more complex and fraught with peril. Now I’ll give you that toddlers rarely come home with random body piercings, preschool is virtually flunk-out-proof, and the only substance I worry about my seven-year-old abusing is his brother. I’ll admit that when things do go wrong in the teen years, there is always the potential for things to go catastrophically wrong in a life-altering sort of way. But I still don’t think that the actual parenting of a teen is so much harder than parenting a preschooler.
In fact, I’ll put it right out there and argue that parenting a child is WAY more labour-intensive than parenting a teen. I think the parents of older children have more freedom than do parents of schoolage kids, and I’m willing to gamble they get more sleep. When kids gain independence, so do their parents. Of course, the emotional investment is the same and I’m in no way saying that you somehow disengage from your children as they get older (hell, I’ve shown no signs of disengaging from my mom and I passed 40 this summer!) but I think the bulk of the parenting “effort” if I can call it that, is expended in the first 15 years or so.
The crux of it is that I truly cannot accept that any stage of parenting will be as traumatic, as transformative, as hard as parenting that squalling newborn. And anyone who has rose-coloured memories of the sweetness that is the toddler years is welcome to come to my house tonight between 4 and 6 pm and witness the debacle that is a our feisty, moody and endlessly adorable not-quite-two-year-old during the arsenic hours. Bonus points if you can entertain him (because he missed you all day while you were at work), supervise the homework, get dinner on the table, ask the middle child about his day, make the lunches, clean the kitchen, and sort the paperwork from the school without wanting to curl up in a ball and rock yourself to sleep on the dining room floor. Surely this is not simply a function of the quantity of kids in my house — it has everything to do, I think, with the fact that there is just more of me required in every hour of their lives than will happen when they’re 16 and trying to have the absolute minimum amount of contact with me.
Of course, I have only sang the first couple of verses of this particular song. My oldest will turn eight in March, so I can really only comment on the first half of the equation. So I bring it to you, bloggy peeps. What say ye? Is there merit to that hoary old nugget, or am I right to bristle when I hear it? Is it really any harder to parent older kids and teens?
(Although if it is, I’m not sure I want to know about it!)

















