The glorious mediocrity of parenthood

Here's an aspect of parenting I never conceived of until I got here: the glorious mediocrity of it all.

By mediocre, I don't mean that it's lacking. I mean most everybody gets the same extraordinary experience.

My experience, which I would describe as "perfect," is no better than most anyone else's. Sure, our personal or professional lives might be better or worse, but our lives as parents are equally great.

Babies are babies. Toddlers are toddlers. Yes, they're all unique, but mostly they're the same. Some are harder, some are easier, but they all deliver the same bliss.

That's why parents of small children can commune with anyone who has one or has had one. It doesn't matter if that person is a cashier at Walmart or a thirty-something who’s already retired thanks to some undisclosed windfall.

Parenting small children is a communist utopia: an equal sum of joy gets doled out to us all.

As children get older this changes. The gaps between them widen, tribes form, advantages and disadvantages compound. They become just as different from each other as the rest of us. They don't play with anybody who just happens to be around.

But for now, I'm still in the same boat as most everyone else.

I've spent most of my adult life priding myself on not being like everybody else. And now that I'm the same as every other parent, I'm amazed at how much I love it. It feels good to just be another member of the tribe.