The Mommies' Diaries…Parenting, One Blog at a Time.

About 10 days after Z was born, we had our dear friend and professional photographer, Anne, over to photograph our family (insert shameless plug here: www.dragonflyannie.com). Of course, DJ chose to crash our four hour newborn session with relentless whining, absolute defiance and pretty much all things über bratty.  Fortunately for us, Anne is not only a mother to a three year old, but because of her photography business, quite accustomed to the unpredictable nature of kids.

As we were trying to pose Z in an adorable, hand-made sock monkey costume – DJ was pleading for my attention.  “Mommy, play with me!” “Mommy, come outside with me.” “Mommy, build these blocks with me.” We were sitting in the middle of DJ’s playroom – the walls lined door to door with her toys….dolls, crayons, motorized cars and walking, barking (annoying!) dogs.  Elmo was giggling away, repeating something about being tickled, and my blood pressure was rising.  In a room full of potential for distraction, all DJ wanted was me.  Anne seemed genuinely unaffected by the chaos of pink plastic surrounding us, but I was embarrassed and stressed out.

And then, the dreaded question came floating gracefully out of Anne’s kind mouth, “How is DJ at playing alone?” I laughed nervously as I assumed this was Anne’s nonjudgmental way of saying “DJ is INSANE!” and then I bluntly said, “Terrible.” I mean, wasn’t that obvious?  Much to my relief, Anne and I then launched into a long discussion about how both of our girls (hooray, her toddler wasn’t perfect either!) were not so great at entertaining themselves.  And then, we did what all good moms do (said sarcastically), we took the blame for it.  We accepted that as a result of our well-intended, undivided attention, our daughters had learned to depend on us for their needs – and their play.

I immediately thought of another dear friend of mine, who, early on, instituted daily “alone play” with her daughter who is the same age as DJ.  If I recall correctly, my friend would place her daughter in her playpen after they both woke up and would have her play alone (supervised, of course) for an hour a day. Brilliant! At the time, I couldn’t imagine DJ cooperating with such a plan – and now I realize that it is, in fact, a learned skill that would’ve (of course) been met with resistance at first.  However, like any other disciplined twist in the daily routine, would yield positive results.  Oh man, I had failed at a drug-free birth with DJ, had failed at producing enough milk to breastfeed her past 4 months, had failed at training her how to sleep through the night – and now, had failed at teaching her how to play independently.

Had I robbed her of her imagination, too?  Had I never forced (gently, of course) her to explore the world of imaginary friends and fantasy-lands? Had I stunted her ability to focus, to self-soothe, to color her thoughts vibrantly enough to keep herself entertained?

Perhaps, of all these fears – my biggest was that I had put the kibosh on her budding imagination.  I mean, if she was always counting on me for play, could I be sure I wasn’t influencing her make-believe world?  You know, the world where she’s in charge, and has the creative freedom to concoct whatever rules and scenarios she wants?  The world that will essentially foster her confidence as she explores order and charge and expression of opinion?  Yeah, that world – had I trampled it with my adult-conditioned experiences?  My subconscious thoughts of what can and can’t actually be? Had I robbed DJ of the Neighborhood of Make Believe because I played in the Real World with her too much?

The other night, after story time with her daddy and Baby Z – per usual, I crawled into DJ’s bed, laying beside her. We have started “telling” one story per night after reading our two bedtime stories. DJ asked, “Can you tell me a story,” to which I replied, “Which animal?” Our ritual has been to choose an animal, followed by a narration about this animal enduring some sort of real-life experience that DJ can relate to….a squirrel whose daddy goes to work everyday, a puppy who has a new baby sister, etc. On this particular night, she exclaimed, “Kitties!”

I began, “This is the story of a little girl kitty.  She lived with her mommy kitty, her daddy kitty, and her baby sister kitty…” “What their names are?” DJ interrupted. “Hmm, great question.  What shall we name them?” DJ thought for a while, and decided that the mommy kitty should be “Maka,” the Baby kitty as “Caca” (still hoping that wasn’t some sort of subconscious reference to a baby eliciting thoughts of poop), the older kitty sister would be “Kiki” and the daddy, “Titi.” We giggled as I tried to keep the names straight throughout the story, and DJ nodded off to sleep as I whispered “The End.”

I laid there, in her Princess big-girl bed, covered in sheer pink netting, for a few extra minutes.  I breathed a cleansing sigh of relief and self-forgiveness.  And then I laughed out loud as I asked, “Maka?” I could stop worrying that I had imprisoned her imagination by playing alongside her.  Once I got to really thinking, I could agree that, most of the time, we are playing in her world, by her rules. A world where daddy is a kitty-dog and ants are her friends who inspire her to make up songs about them sitting together on the side of the road.

I am, however, also making a concerted effort not to interrupt her when I do find her entertaining herself.  (This is mostly inspired by my need to survive with a 4 week old baby now also requiring my attention). When the house gets really quiet, instead of belting out my usual question of “What are you doing, DJ?” – I am now spying on her as she checks her dollies for “protein,” and assures them that their bellies will be ok after “drinking their yogi (yogurt) too fast.”

I think we’re gonna be alright, after-all.

When I was in high school, a friend of mine had a baby.  It must have been our freshman year, because I can remember her telling me the news as we rode the bus toward the Hillsdale Shopping Center.  Now, I’m sure you can imagine where a girl’s priorities are when she’s a young 15 years old, and while I was excited (ok, more like terrified) for my friend, I wasn’t exactly tuning into her journey to see what pearls of wisdom I could glean.

However, a few years after her son was born, I specifically remember taking note of my very first parenting tip: Let your kid be himself.  You see, while the majority of my girlfriends and I were still calling each other every morning to see what the others were wearing to school that day (afraid of being the different one), my teen-mom friend was already allowing her son’s sense of independence to blossom – free from the pressure of what everyone else was doing or thinking.

That little boy went through two phases that I can recall clearly, 1) wearing cowboy boots and a cape wherever he went, and 2) wearing nothing but soccer jerseys to cover his upper half.  I remember accompanying my friend to a thrift shop one afternoon so that she could stockpile soccer jerseys for her son.  Her theory was that if he was going to wear the same thing every day, he should at least be clean.  As I shrunk back a little, afraid of someone seeing me in a thrift shop, I remember thinking “Wow, that is so cool.  Someday, I will be this cool of a mom. I will never care what others think of how my kid dresses.”

And then, this happened:

DJ has blossomed her own sense of independence, and style.  On the one hand, it is totally awesome not to have to dress her anymore.  There’s such freedom that comes along with being able to send DJ off into her room, only to have her emerge (sans tantrum) minutes later, dressed and ready to go.  It’s so nice not to start each day with an argument, but rather with a fashion statement instead.

The Saturday that she stepped out of her bedroom in the ensemble pictured above, my husband looked at me and asked, “Is she really going to wear that out?”  Since he, for the most part, doesn’t see DJ until she’s in her jammies at night, this was new territory for him.  And, while I had been explaining the budding artiste within our daughter, he wasn’t quite prepared for the reality of the situation.  “She looks like Punky Brewster,” he whispered to me while quickly turning to DJ and praising her for doing “such a good job” at getting dressed.  “Yep, and yep.”  Yep, she’s really going out like that, and yep, she definitely looks like Punky Brewster.

Here’s the thing with Punky Brewster, though…..she was a happy kid.  If you’re in my generation, you remember the show fondly.  The eccentric girl, played by Soleil Moonfrye, was known for dressing in polka dots and stripes.  As an adult, I have read Soleil’s book titled “Happy Chaos,” in which she talks about life growing up and raising kids of her own now.  Little do most know, Punky and Soleil were extremely similar – and guess what?  Soleil was a happy, happy kid – both playing a quirky character, and living real life as one.  Her parents allowed her a ton of freedom to self-express.

I want my kid to be that happy.  Authentically happy.

So, was my friend wise beyond her years at just 16 years old?  While it would be nice to think so, I am inclined to believe her tolerance for the unconventional was a result of actually not knowing any better.  She hadn’t yet been tainted by the pressure of social norms.  She wasn’t influenced by Mother’s Clubs.  She had never sat in a circle on the floor of a Toddlers and Tunes music class, silently comparing outfits and parenting techniques to those of other moms.  She was still a kid herself, and safety-pinning a shower towel on her kid’s back to serve as a cape seemed like a perfectly fine thing to do – and she was right.

By her example 18 years ago, I am trying to remember that it doesn’t matter what people think as they take inventory of my kid’s appearance.  I am trying to curb my habit of announcing, “She dressed herself,” each time I encounter someone’s head to toe gaze.  I am trying not to make DJ’s channeling of Punky Brewster about me, because really, it’s about her.  It’s about her developing sense of self.

At the end of the day, what’s important to me is that DJ learns that tags go in the back, seams go on the inside, and for the most part, zippers go in the front.  It doesn’t matter if she pairs polka dots with stripes with animal print.  What matters to me is that when she emerges from her room, beaming with pride and asks, “Me look pretty, mommy?” my answer (and body language) always reflect a confident “YES!”  I never want “pretty” to be conditional.  I never want to say, “Yes, you look pretty, but let’s change your sweatshirt and lose the rain boots.”  Pretty should always be just as she is, just as she chooses, just as she sees it.

We only have one chance to get this stuff right.  A young child’s confidence can be stripped away in a matter of seconds, and the rest of their life can be spent battling feelings of insecurity and inferiority.  My friend, at 16 years old, knew what Punky Brewster knew – and that’s that childhood should be fun and magical and a compilation of really silly outfits.

(And seriously, when she’s not mixing as many patterns as possible, DJ is now into layering. Today, she wore a tank top under a long-sleeved shirt, under a dress – all over aqua blue cords and her rain boots).

I am eating a piece of See’s candy as I sit down to write this.  Let me justify this food choice by making the following declarations: 1) Prior to opening the box of See’s, I polished off an entire bunch of steamed rainbow chard, and 2) My child has been nothing short of absolute hell on Crocs.  Do I feel entitled?  Yes, absolutely.

Now onto my second piece of See’s….I don’t know what has hit our house, but I can tell you for certain, it isn’t “Peace,” nor “Harmony.”  DJ has decided that both sleep and reasoning are over-rated.  Put the two together, and you’ve got a recipe for disaster.  I have never felt so physically taxed and emotionally drained.  After last night’s episode, I woke up feeling hung-over this morning….without any of the regrets or incriminating photos.

Last night easily goes down as one of our worst evenings ever.  While I understand that DJ is in the profession of testing her boundaries, I cannot say that I have the managerial skills required to mitigate this phase.  Lucky for her, God seems to have given me an extra dose of patience – and that has been my only defense against this Tasmanian devil living under my roof.  She flat out rejects every.single.one of my requests/suggestions/demands, and in last night’s exercise of independence, DJ refused to get into the bath.

Her original objection to getting into the tub was because she wanted to “do it.”  (Meaning, I am not permitted to assist her, in any way, as she climbs headfirst into the porcelain lagoon).  She wants to do absolutely everything herself these days, and I am starting to learn that “I do it” is her version of a threat.  If I don’t comply, then she will punish me with some ludicrous behavior – like a crying, screaming, kicking, hair-pulling fit that lasts way too long.  So, last night, when I lost all of that extra patience I was just bragging about, and I began “encouraging” her to plunge more quickly into the bath – all bets were off.

What ensued for the next hour was a long tirade against me, the floor, the bathroom, her stuffed animals, her fine blonde hair, etc.  She just kept repeating, “I don’t want to take bath.  I want to take bath. I don’t want to take bath.  I want to take bath. I don’t want to take bath.  I want to take bath. I don’t want to take bath.  I want to take bath. I don’t want to take bath.  I want to take bath. I don’t want to take bath.  I want to take bath. I don’t want to take bath.  I want to take bath. I don’t want to take bath.  I want to take bath. I don’t want to take bath.  I want to take bath.”

If I weren’t so darn frustrated, I might’ve felt a little heartbroken over her indecision.  I mean, can you imagine being trapped inside a body, that was being led by a mind that literally changed course every half a second?  (And, if you think the above repetitious sentences were annoying to read – and you took the luxury of skipping ahead – just think about what it felt like to be trapped in it, for real, with no way out!)

My mom happened to be over for this little episode.  When DJ finally fell asleep, and I emerged from her bedroom over an hour later, my mom said “It stressed me out so much to hear her cry like that, that I almost had to leave the house.”  Trust me, mom, that feeling is nothing foreign to me…..except, I have to hang in there. I have no choice but to ride the emotional rollercoaster with my toddler.

Despite feeling literally beat up by my child after these types of incidents (which seem to be happening all too often lately), I must admit to a grand sense of achievement once the storm passes and the calm is restored.  It makes me feel like a really good mom when I’m able to navigate through the rough waters while acting in a loving, supportive and controlled manner.  (And honestly, I will take self-administered pats on the back whenever, and wherever, I can!).

One thing I left off – in between the grand finale of her tantrum, and me escaping her wrath, DJ rolled over and said, “I so sawdy (sorry) Mommy.  Hold me in your arms.  I love you. I so tired now.”  And that, my friends, just goes to show that my sweet little girl hasn’t gone anywhere at all….she’s just going through the motions of growing.  A beautiful reminder of why it pays to love our kids through their ugliest moments – always knowing they will desperately need us on the other side.

My baby is growing up.  Sure, she’s only 17 months old – but we’re being catapulted toward the future, and I’m not sure I’m ready for all of this.

On Saturday, we took DJ to an Open House at the pre-pre school that one of my Godsons attends.  I have long known that he loves the school, and held it in the back of my mind that DJ might follow him there (and end up in the same class as my other Godson!) when she was old enough.  I guess I just hadn’t realized how quickly the “time” would be upon us.

The pre-pre school program starts at two years old, which DJ will have turned just days before the next school year starts (seriously, my stomach just contorted into a knot as I typed the word “school year”).  We need to submit our application to hold her place in the program – and I am having a really hard time accepting that I am already filling out applications and touring schools. I guess I thought I had until her sophomore year in high school before all of that started!  I’m only half kidding.  I cannot tell you how thankful I am to have another 7 months to get used to the idea.

The school is a co-op, and meets only once a week.  That means that I will be there each time DJ has a school day, and will be able to cry over her as I watch her experience things like Play-doh, a class pet, and cubbies.  Ok, ok – so I’ll try not to be that mom, but I’m not gonna lie – it’s gonna be rough….for me.

As DJ gets older, I am able to see her budding personality more clearly.  One of the things that stands out to me the most is her strong sense of independence.  While we have practiced a “modern version” of attachment parenting (I just made that term up), DJ is really confident in who she is, and is seemingly less and less worried when I leave her in the care of others.  Quite honestly, I’m the one who still struggles with separation anxiety.  However, because of the adventurous, fearless and curious girl that DJ is – I know that I need to step out of her way and let her do the things she’s developmentally ready for….like school.

Not too many months ago, I was discussing this whole school thing with my best friend (the mother of my Godsons).  I said, “How do you know all of this?  I am super overwhelmed by the details.  Just tell me where I need to be, and when.” (Referring to the Open House, etc).  I looked at her in wonderment, as she knew so, so much about this next phase of grown-up kid life.  I was slightly insecure about it all, not convinced I would ever actually sound like an expert on this sort of topic – school, enrollment, classroom rules, parent/teacher relationships, or how to make cute bunny-shaped sandwiches for class snacks.  I guess I saw myself as that one flakey mom who was always outside the circle, showing up on school holidays because I hadn’t read the “closed” memo, or forgetting the photo of our dogs for show-and-tell day.  But, tonight, something magical happened.  The topic of pre-pre school came up with a friend of mine, and after I finished babbling some, she asked, “How do you know all of this?”

It happened.  Without even trying, I became the mom I was scared I couldn’t be.  I had retained the details, and I actually sounded like a mom in the know. Maybe we’d be OK after all.  Maybe I’d even end up hosting a favorite craft project in a corner of DJ’s big new classroom.  Maybe I’ll be a mom who guides other mothers who aren’t quite ready for this whole growing up thing, either.

Yes, DJ is still my baby – and she always will be.  But, what never ceases to amaze me about this mothering gig is how it also affords me to grow.  DJ and I are constantly growing up together – learning new things, stretching beyond our comfort zone, letting go, and maturing along each of the “next steps.”  At the end of the day, I want her to be as proud of my growth as I am of hers.  (And, I should probably warn her now – I will likely be the kind of mom who embarrasses her by chaperoning her dances.  I can’t let her get too wrapped up in this whole “independence” thing!).

We have entered into the tantrum phase.  Please tell me it gets better.

I still receive weekly developmental updates from www.babycenter.com.  When I got pregnant with DJ a few Decembers ago, I signed up with this online tool right away, as I loved getting weekly updates on her growth in utero.  Now, I find it so comforting to read what “normal” milestones are – helps make the struggle du jour more bearable when I believe there are at least a million other moms out there feeling my same pain.

So, last week’s 13 months, 4 weeks update was something along the lines of “your seemingly sweet, even-tempered toddler might start throwing tantrums.  Don’t worry, they’re right on track.”  I felt as though I was being congratulated – that I should be delighted that DJ was indeed keeping up with her peers in the attitude department.  That update was timely though, as it was that very morning that DJ discovered yet another new tone in her voice.

Hooray for me.  I have become a mom to a tantrum-throwing toddler.  She has become that kid, that kid who people stare at with disapproval.  And I have become that mom who people stare at with disgust, or in rare cases, empathy.  I have suddenly become that woman who has lost all control to a “spoiled child” – a child who FREAKS OUT whenever she gets frustrated.  For someone who already hates being anywhere even remotely close to the center of attention – this phase is making me pretty uncomfortable.  No, very uncomfortable.

We took DJ over to my husband’s grandparent’s house on Saturday.  She was thrilled to have a new audience, and to have new folks to test her tantrum powers on.  We all made the mistake of laughing every time her high pitched yell tapered off into a grizzly snarl.  (She likes to end each tantrum with her eyes squinted almost shut, and her lips puckered into an “O” shape.  Honestly, it’s completely hysterical).  However, we have now spent the past 30 hours trying to undo her thinking that this is a positive source of entertainment.  Consistency is exhausting.

I tried to change my perspective tonight while she was flipping out at the dinner table.  After my seventeenth “No,” I decided to ignore her.  While pretending she wasn’t making my ears bleed, I tried to remind myself that this will eventually pass – that she’s learning about independence and communication, and I hate to say it….manipulation.  She’s learning who she is, and how to get people around her to respond.  I mean, in a way, I guess I am sort of proud of her for expressing herself.  However, really, I am just extremely fearful for our future.  Someday, there’ll be hormones and words further coloring these outbursts.

I can see it now – the red Mary Jane’s she’ll be wearing the first time she adds foot stomping to the tantrum repertoire.  Would it be so odd to wear noise-cancelling headphones around the house when those years kick in?

I love my child.  I love my child.  I love my child.

This was my last month on the estradiols and progesterone, that’s 3 months. After the last week, I got my period. We are so excited! We have our ovulation kit ready and I can’t wait to start trying again. I really hope that God blesses us this time around. I am staying hopeful yet I should also try to not stress on it so hard.

It’s so funny. Everyone that I’ve talked to has told me that either they or they know someone who was trying and never conceived, but the moment they stopped trying, they did. I am really going to try to not think about it, but I can’t help not to. I mean I blog about it, think about it, and talk about it. It’s my last month on these dang pills and I can really start. It’s really hard to not think about and “try.” I just don’t want to get all worked up and then end up failing again. Positive energies are definitely welcomed my way, everyone.

It’s funny because I read this article in a magazine the other night about a woman in her mid 30′s doing the exact opposite.  She was sick and tired of going to parties and events, where people would ask her about kids or when she plans on having kids.  In my world, I want a baby but in her world, she doesn’t want kids.  Her pain and stress is just hearing about the same topics and having to tell everyone that she doesn’t want kids.  Everyone assumes that something is wrong with her health, but nothing is wrong, she just doesn’t want kids.  Then everyone assumes that she hates kids, but she doesn’t.  Her thing is that she isn’t destined to have kids.  She always felt that kids would dent her social life, financial stability, personal time, and travel plans.

It would be interesting if she got pregnant.  I mean, she probably will, if she ever got off of whatever birth control method she is on because she isn’t stressing about it like I am.  I honestly used to feel like her.  I grew up as an only child and although I was never spoiled, I did what I wanted to do when I wanted to.  I was always independent and very selfish of my own time.   Up until a few years ago, I couldn’t see myself as a “mom.”  I was always doing “me.”

I loved my own time.  My time to sleep in and whenever I wanted to.  The ability to go shopping in peace.  The luxury of traveling to exotic places without worrying about daycare or anything.  To be able to go out with friends whenever I wanted to.  I loved “my time,” but that sorta changed when I got my puppy.  I’ve had dogs before but I never raised them on my own.  A lot of people say that having a puppy is just like having a baby, well sort of.  I  mean, I have to worry about travel plans now and who’s going to take care of my dog.  Doggy hotel runs around $40/day now.  If I go shopping or run errands, will my puppy break the house?  What about my dog’s general health, I have to groom her, take her to the vet, get the right food, supplements and supplies.  Responsibilities came and it’s been great practice.

The lady in the story that I read reminded me of myself, but years later, I wanted a baby.  I am not too sure if she will ever change her mind because she’s 38 and she stands firm behind her wants, but I hope that she thinks about it some more and changes her mind.  When you grow older, who will be there for you.  What about all of the joy and experiences that will become when you do have children.  Sure you have your time to do personal things, travel, etc, but nothing can compare to having your own family.

Driving a car is serious business. After all, there are a lot of crazy drivers out there!

That’s why when my 14 year old asked if she could start driving…I said yes.

I know what you’re thinking.  But, let me defend my position. My thought process was this. If I spread out the drivers training over a period of a couple years, then she’ll be plenty ready and comfortable behind the wheel when it’s time for her to drive herself. She will become more independent.

First, starting the car was enough. Then shifting the automatic gear for me made her happy. Then, she wanted to back the car out of the driveway. And put it back in the driveway.

After I was convinced she knew how all the controls in the car worked, it was time to get out. So we practiced parking on weekends up at the college parking lot. This involved endless circles, stopping and going, parking and reversing.

I realized this was actually a great way for her to get very familiar and get over the fear of driving.  We worked on making smooth turns and complete stops.  We worked on gradual acceleration and controlling the car if we have to slam on the brakes in the rain.

But be forewarned! At first, the requests to drive will be here and there. Then they become increasingly more frequent. We graduated to driving around the campus and then into the residential neighborhoods behind the college on Saturday mornings.

Something strange began to happen. I began to see things I had never seen before. The neighborhood I lived in! There were shopping centers and restaurants I never knew existed. Since when were there so many water towers in the San Mateo hills? And when did that skate park get put in?!

It was terrible! We had to start having breakfast out, buy fresh vegetables and bread at the farmers markets, and make frequent stops at our favorite specialty drink shops (aka Peets).

Mind you, these were short hops from the college parking lot and after much practice on campus. Not only do you want to make sure your teen is safe, but you want to be sure nobody else gets hurt as well.

My little girl is growing up. At 15 1/2, she passed her written drivers test with a perfect score. While taking an official drivers training course as required by law, her instructor repeatedly told me how well she was driving and that she was going to do just fine. At 16, she passed her drivers test with only one point marked off – because she hit a pothole and didn’t slow down enough. Really?

No deaths. No accidents. No driving errors.

That’s okay. To me, that’s a perfect score!

When you were younger (please note I did not say young) and somebody asked you what you wanted to be when you grew up, I’m sure you were all like me.  You jumped up and down and said “A taxi driver!”

Yeah, right.

It’s something parents never talk about.  I think the secret lies in the Book of Secrets only the President of the U.S. has access to.

When our children are small and you’re like our new mommie or our preschool mommie, we take them with us everywhere for various reasons.  Because we want to.  Because we have to.  Because we’re showing them off.

One day, we decide to take a chance and expand our horizons and put them in a fun-petitive sport during the summer.  It lasts several weeks and we drive them to and from the sport.

If we’re lucky, they find something they’re really good at like dancing or karate or baseball and it’s awesome. Your child is growing up before your eyes doing things you never imagined you would see them doing!

And somewhere down the line when they blow out 13 candles, or so, something strange happens.  This time portal opens up, swallows you, and 4 or 5 years flies by and you realize you have become a taxi driver!

Oh yes.  It’s true.  The amount of time you spend driving your children around increases exponentially with the type of activities they participate in as they get into their teens.  They’ll want to participate in sports that last 463 days out of the year, go to dances that last 4 hours but take 5 weeks to prepare for, complete school projects that Davinci had an easier time constructing, and take countless trips to the malls with their friends.

As a single father, I’ve become a Total Teen Dad and I’ve never complained.  Why would I?  In a strange way, this is a good thing.  You feel needed.  You get to spend more time with them, see them get excited about the new things, and experience the pitfalls that come with some new things.  And after several years of driving them around the world many times, you’ll actually be excited for them when they get their drivers license.  I think it’s Mother Nature’s way of preparing us for their independence.

Yes.  I thought I wanted to direct films when I got older and option a screenplay or two.  Apparently, I was wrong.  I wanted to be a taxi driver.