The Work in Progress Mommy

Let me paint you a picture: It’s a hot and sultry Monday morning in Mumbai.  I’m supposed to be on a Teams call, nodding wisely and saying things like “Let’s take that offline.” Instead, I’m at my daughter’s summer camp, at the skating rink, crouched like a baby giraffe, holding the clammy little hand of my daughter, who is doing her best impression of someone being marched to the gallows.

This wasn’t Day One of skating class. Oh no, we were well into Week Two of summer camp. A camp she agreed to attend, by the way. She said yes. Enthusiastically. I even have witnesses.

But as it turns out, 3.5-year-olds have a very flexible definition of “yes.” Somewhere between “I want to skate!” and “I want to never skate again unless you carry me while also skating,” something changed.

Every morning, last week, there had been resistance. Tears. Negotiations. Stalling tactics worthy of seasoned diplomats. But like good parents who’d already paid the non-refundable fees, we soldiered on. “She’ll settle in,” we told ourselves. “All kids cry a bit in the beginning.” Right?

Except, this morning, when the crying escalated. It had now reached opera-level theatrics. And my mama-heart, already frayed by travel guilt and long work days and everything in between, gave in. I took a spontaneous two-hour leave from work and accompanied her to her summer camp. In my work clothes, with my laptop in my bag et el. And a vague idea that I’d just “drop in, drop her there, and leave.”

But of course, she wouldn’t even put on her skates unless I was with her. Holding her hand. On the rink. With the instructors and other kids looking on, slightly amused and slightly sympathetic.

She didn’t want to be coaxed by anyone else. She didn’t care how the other kids were skating solo. For her, skating was only acceptable if I was holding her hand through the entire process. So, there I was in my office attire, drenched in sweat, and with an absolutely unbearable back ache, trying to be the anchor in her tiny tornado of fear.

That morning, between my clumsy bent knee walk, her unsure glides and our nervous giggles, I had a small epiphany: maybe it’s not about skating at all. Maybe it’s about feeling safe. Maybe she’s not being difficult, maybe we’re just expecting too much, too soon.

Yes, we paid for the class. Yes, she technically said she wanted to go. But she’s three. And a half. She also said she wanted to be a unicorn last week.

So, I’ve decided to reframe it. Maybe skating camp wasn’t a waste. Maybe it wasn’t about mastering a skill, it was about learning something else: that sometimes, it’s okay to press pause, show up, and just hold your child’s hand without asking her to be brave or grown-up before she’s ready.

As parents, one of the hardest and most important lessons is learning to let our children be who they are, not who we want them to be.

It’s okay if they start something and stop midway.
It’s okay if they change their minds.
It’s okay if they cry.
It’s okay if they have big emotions and public meltdowns, because they’re kids.

We so often expect emotional regulation from them when, truthfully, even we as adults struggle with it. And yet, when they show fear, resistance, or frustration, our first instinct is often to “fix” it, smooth it over, or rush them past it, so they can keep up with everyone else or meet the invisible bar we’ve set.

But they don’t need fixing. They need space!
They don’t need pressure. They need presence!
They don’t need perfection. They need permission… permission to feel, to falter, to figure things out in their own time.

Our job isn’t to mold them into who we think they should be.
Our job is to love them as they are, in all their unpredictability, intensity, and magic.

To simply let them be.

And sometimes, that starts with us letting go… letting go of our expectations, our timelines, and our need for everything to go “according to plan.”

On a funny note, and as an afterthought… maybe next summer, we’ll just do an art class or pottery.