This tendency to compare permeates all aspects of parenthood even beyond the infancy years. We watch our children pass their milestones and instead of relishing in their individual achievements, we compare them to our peers' babies - who talked first, walked first, who passed the self-consciousness test first (philosophers will know what I mean by this - yes, we are nerds), who can say their ABCs perfectly, count to 10 first. The truth is - it doesn't matter. When our children are 5 years old in kindergarten, they will all be pretty much equal to each other in terms of capacities and no one will know who's baby started doing what first. Already, at this young age, we plant the seeds of comparison that has the potential to affect our children's esteem as they get older and our sense of self-worth as parents. The truth is, the fact that my daughter talks more at 2.5 that her best friend and cousin is completely irrelevant to what those three will become in the future, and it is equally irrelevant to how good of mothers we are.

Moreover, in concentrating on what we don't have in common, we are keeping ourselves from appreciating all the things we do have in common. Back to my visit this summer, I was deeply appreciative of having a friend who is so in-tune with herself and her emotions, and who wasn't afraid to confide in me. Because here's the truth everyone: it's not all snuggles and smiles and immediate unconditional love. At this point in my daughter's life, I would go insane with grief if anything ever happened to her, and my momma grizzly emerges at the mere possibility that anyone could be harming her. But it wasn't love at first sight. At first, I had no idea how to feel toward this odd little creature who would simply never stop crying, had no concern for my immense sleep deprivation, and demanded almost 24 hour attention regardless of whether I had eaten, or needed a shower, or needed to go to the bathroom. And speaking of bathrooms, I can tell you that I was far from in love with her when she decided to cover the walls of a Target bathroom with her own "markings." This little creature, who refused to breastfeed and left me no choice than to semi-permanently attach myself for 15 months to a machine that essentially relegated me to the status of a dairy cow, continued crying for attention even during my emotional break-down three weeks into her life, where I was highly doubting whether I had made the right decision to become a mother. And even today, almost three years later, I sometimes want to go far away from her, and I utterly rejoice at the rare nights alone with my husband, or just with myself. My office has become a haven, away from the tantrums, the Disney Channel and Nickelodeon cartoons, and the plastic toys thrown everywhere around the house (yes I clean them - they always reemerge). I sometimes lose my temper, I raise my voice, and time-outs are as much for my sanity as it is for her punishment.

Every parent who reads this, I am sure, knows where I am coming from. And yet, we never talk about this. Women, in particular, are made to feel as if there is something deeply wrong with us if we do not love every single waking moment of motherhood. We are not encouraged to discuss the negative aspects of pregnancy, and the trauma that can come with giving birth (yes, my birth was traumatic - I said it. My daughter is alive and healthy - but my birth was traumatic and it will haunt me the rest of my life). And we are certainly not encouraged to admit to each other that, at times, we want to get as far away as possible from our children; that, at times, it takes the patience of a saint to deal with our little angels. When talking to my friend, I was able to finally tell her all of my fears, doubts, and ambiguities. She, being as wonderful as she is, reciprocated in sympathy but, also, by telling me that she too had similar fears, doubts, and ambiguities. And this is something about becoming a parent that I had not expected - how deeply it bonds you to people, even to people with whom you already had a deep bond. I experienced this not just with my friend this summer, but with my cousin whose son is close to my daughter's age, a former student whose son is my daughter's best friend, and my niece who has two little girls. Indeed, as teenagers, my niece and I were polar opposites and did not get along; motherhood re-bonded us in ways we didn't think possible. My relationship with my cousin has an added dimension of care and empathy because we can share all of these new and powerful emotions that permeate our lives. We get each other now in ways that we didn't before. My former student is ten years younger than I and somehow our children, and our mutual experiences in raising them, have managed to dissipate that gap. Even a person who I once considered only an acquaintance has become a genuine friend from a distance given our shared experiences as mothers. I venture to say we are now closer than our respective husbands, who were fraternity brothers and through whom we met. And I can tell you the exact moment I fell in love with her as a person - when she confided in me that she didn't want to tell me about her second pregnancy because she knew we were having a difficult time conceiving. She placed my feelings above her joy, and I will always love her for that - and grew to love her more when she was ecastic when we finally did conceive. Yes, when we become parents, it is a new identity and role that shapes our personalities and becomes a new pair of lenses with which to filter the world. But it is because parenthood is so life and identity altering that we should feel at liberty to discuss all aspects of it, even the bad. We, typically, have no problems complaining to each other about work, our spouses, or our parents... but the thought of complaining about our children and our experiences as parents is almost considered taboo. But it is one of the toughest jobs in the world... so why on earth shouldn't we admit that if often feels like that?