moles //
Photo Courtesy of Holly Ruskin
By Holly Ruskin
There’s a popular game traditionally played at carnivals that involves whacking a mole with a mallet, forcing it to retreat back into its hole. The only problem is that once you’ve whacked one mole, another pops up from an entirely different hole. This is the game. This is whack-a-mole. Defined by a quick Google search as the colloquial way of describing a “series of repetitious and futile tasks, where the successful completion of one just yields another popping up elsewhere”.
When I’m asked by people who don’t have children what it’s like to be a parent, this is not the way I characterise it. Unless . . . they ask for 100% honesty. The truth of my experience. What I really think and feel about parenting. If they ask for that, then this is what I say.
Parenting is exactly like a game of whack-a-mole. And though this may sound humorous, diminishing or as though I have a complete lack of respect for the job at hand, I have the goods to back it up.
Because my daughter has just started her two-year sleep regression. Since the day she arrived, there has not been a nap or bedtime that she hasn’t railed against relentlessly and literally without fatiguing. Yet in the early days, a swaddle and white noise would eventually yield success. Just as we’d nailed that routine though, she started teething and so we were back where we started. Once through this (pretty awful) phase, we once again found our rhythm and it was a gentle rocking that helped her fall asleep. But then came learning to crawl, after that it was cutting her molars which was swiftly followed by walking. Moles popping up everywhere.
Finally, around six weeks ago, we found ourselves in a sweet spot. Our daughter had cut all her teeth, was walking, talking in a way that we mostly understood, and she had dropped down to one daytime nap. The bedtime routine we had been honing for some time was working and so we had some much needed quality time together in the evenings.
It felt like being on the cusp of a storm; heatwave receding, blistering sun slowly moving behind a wisp of cloud. Faces turned to a gentle, cooling breeze.
The moles, we felt, were finally all whacked.
But of course, we couldn’t have seen a virulent summer cold coming. Our little girl woke one morning, nose streaming and with an awful cough that would keep her awake for many nights to come. Our hearts broke for this little being whose brain and body had been so busy learning since the moment it left the womb. As though we had all forgotten that next on the list was the construction of a hardy immune system.
Needless to say, bedtimes crumbled under the weight of this fresh challenge. We nursed her, held the weight of her in our arms as we once again faced the intense heat of parenting.
And so here we are. Our daughter has a newly minted immunity and is fighting sleep like a champ.
Oh, it’s not just sleep that throws up endless moles (though most of us know that a good amount of consolidated hours is the cornerstone to being a healthy, happy parent). Growing, raising and guiding a little person is one long game of whack-a-mole and possibly the only thing in this life that can provide us with absolute certainty.
We mothers know — for sure — that our work is never done. And I am trying to find a comfort in this. Waking up each day with the knowledge that this is a job that will never be finished. I can’t tidy it or put all the parts of it away. There will always be another repetitive and futile task to complete. One more mole to send packing. Yet it’s the moles that give me grit, stronger arms and a surer heart. I am tougher and more resilient, able to withstand and face down adversity. So yes, there are moles but I am becoming so much better at reframing their role in my life. With the help of good friends, a regular journaling habit and the steadfast support of my husband, I am able to see each one as the next challenge that will help redefine my edges.
The shaping of my mother self, like a pot on the wheel, formed from a clay that can be curved or smoothed depending on the force of movement.
Yes, there are moles. No, you can’t whack them all.
But the game is won when you recognise that it’s what you learn from the mallet’s swing which is the real reward. So keep going, play another round, and another and another. Close your eyes and feel what it’s like to grow, expand, toughen.
Close your eyes, and swing.
HOLLY RUSKIN is a mama and lover of women's words. A freelance writer and Film lecturer, her work includes editing books and screenplays, writing essays and poetry. Her words can be found in various publications; a collection of her poems on motherhood have been featured in the Amazon bestseller Not The Only One. She writes for Motherscope and Sunday Mornings at the River. Connect with her on Instagram @hollyruskin_.