A few weekends ago, we did our weekly pool day. Those days are great for the kids, though if I’m honest, I’m not really a fan. By the time we get to that point in the day on Saturdays, I’ve already taken them to swim lessons with my husband, then taken care of them alone after while feeding them lunch, putting them down for nap, meal prepping for the week, and folding the laundry. I’m always so tired by then. And just when I finally sit down at 2pm, the kids wake up from nap wanting to go outside and swim. I also always wear my pediatrician hat when we are near the water and yell way too much for my liking making sure the kids are safe.

This particular Saturday that weekend was hard. I have been having daily headaches for the last two weeks and for some reason, the endless crying and yelling at home has been overwhelming. My three year old was refusing his nap and crying when I laid him down. My four year old was throwing toys at me, screaming, “HA HA”, making me wonder if I am raising a sociopath. My six year old was calling me a loser. My seven year old was so frustrated that his Lego car kept breaking apart that he was taking it out on me too. In the middle of all of it, I stood in the pantry for a minute and let out a quick sob. I was on the phone with my brother and sister-in-law, and they became so concerned. I gathered myself, wiped my face, and went back to the Saturday routine.

The kids crying isn’t something new. Sometimes though, it gets to be a lot when I am trying to help them regulate, while being so dysregulated myself internally. That requires a whole different level of patience and effort. In the moments when shit hits the fan, we have to keep calm outwardly to model how our reactions should be. Once I was bathing the boys, and while 4 of them were in the bath, literal shit was in the water! I had to pivot to a shower after scooping out the poop and draining the water. So much screaming and yelling. At one point, my mind just became so quiet. All the noise just quieted down, and things ran smoother.

So really, the chaos happens and it’s inevitable. It isn’t their fault. The kids have to stay so composed all week at school and daycare, and so we are their safe space at home. They let it all out with us because they trust us to still be here after. We don’t always know how their days really go, what they’re holding in, what they’re working so hard to keep together. Every day, something or someone may be making their little brains and hearts hurt. That’s always been hard for me to sit with, the not knowing or the not being able to comfort them always. But I get it now. We crumble at home, and those Saturday afternoons when everyone falls apart are just the release of a whole week held in. We are their safe space and we love them no matter what. Life happens and we have to let them have their safety net.

So my husband got home, the kids woke up, and we all got ready for the pool. While folding the laundry, I made our factory line of swim outfits ready, swim diapers for the little two, and lots of sunscreen options. We jumped in and my older three ran off to play with their dad. My youngest, still in his little life jacket, wanted me to hold him and carry him around the pool like always. He wanted to jump in, and he wanted me right there to catch him.

“Mama, come closer,” he said, pointing to the exact spot where he needed me to stand. Right by the edge, as always.

I’d try to inch back a little, and every time he’d refuse to jump unless I was standing right where he pointed. As the afternoon went on, I kept moving back, just a little at a time. And then, finally, he jumped in without me standing close at all.

“You did it!!” I yelled.

He looked around, confused a little, and then joyfully screamed, so happy. “See, mama, I told you I can do it!”

That’s where it hit me. They keep needing us until they finally don’t. They keep needing us until they finally catch on. That’s our role. We stay close until they figure it out, and we keep cheering them on until they can do it completely on their own. And even after that, we’re still cheering, still their loudest fans, as they carry themselves further into their own lives. We provide them that little push, a little motivation, until they do it on their own, so proud of themselves for being the ones to have completed the task. Yes, I was the one who schemed to make it happen, and when he gleamed with joy and said, “See, I told you I can do it!”, I knew that ultimately it is our goal to make sure they feel and know it was their motivation within that helped them succeed.

We’re their safe space and their cheerleaders, both at once. Even on the hard Saturdays. Even when it was us who made it happen all along, we get to watch them believe it was all them, and that’s exactly how it should be.

And maybe that’s the whole job, really. Standing close enough to catch them, then slowly, quietly, stepping back so they can catch themselves. Some days that looks like a good cry in the pantry before anyone notices. Other days it looks like watching your baby jump into the water on his own for the first time. Both days count. Both days are us showing up for them, even when we don’t feel like we have much left to give. Sure, at 2pm on Saturdays I wish I could just sit down for a few minutes. I also know those are the moments that will bring ultimate joy to these kids. We keep doing. We keep inching back. We keep cheering. And somehow, they keep growing braver because of it.