Do You Sign Your Youngest Up For Stuff Or Are You Like Me?

In my experience, one of the most under-discussed challenges of pregnancy and early motherhood is fielding other people’s suggestions. Everyone has a tip, a trick, a book to recommend, a podcast that changed their lives. It can be a lot.

But when my oldest arrived almost twelve years ago, there was one piece of advice on which everyone agreed, and it landed on me like a ton of bricks: without a routine, you’re toast. If life with babies and little kids was only going to be as good as the schedule I created, then gosh darn it, a good schedule I would create.

We found our rhythm soon enough thanks to the sleep strategy book 12 Hours By 12 Weeks (here I go, recommending a book…). I know this approach doesn’t work for everyone, but for us it was a game-changer. I clung to the reliability of my son’s 8am/12pm/4pm/8pm feeding schedule like the lifeline it was in those first months. It felt like we had discovered some sort of newborn cheat code. And then, like it always does, life goes on.

Maybe the baby was dropping a nap or moving to table foods, or our favorite sitter went back to college or someone came down with the flu, the old line “you don’t know what you got til it’s gone,” seemed to follow every move we made. Except when it came to figuring out the flow that worked for our little family of three, I did know exactly what we had, when we had it. And just because I knew to expect change didn’t make it any easier when it came.

When our daughter was born, I stared at the wall. I was legitimately baffled. I felt like Claire Danes’ Carrie Mathison, standing before her bulletin board in Homeland, attempting to connect all the dots of their feeding and nap schedules. How do people do this? I remember the first time I lined up their afternoon naps; I might as well have summited Everest. Truly, what a thrill.

Thankfully, we were able to get ourselves into another groove during their preschool years. It was never easy, but it wasn’t chaos, either. At 20 months apart, their needs were similar enough that what worked for one usually worked for the other. This extended to their activities and social circles, too. We were fortunate that many of my son’s best buddies — kids who have remained his close friends — have younger sisters who became good friends of my daughter’s. Families we already knew, no additional effort necessary. Boom.

And then came our youngest, William.

Will’s birth is the stuff of those against-all-odds success stories in hospital commercials on TV. As a super-preemie, he spent the first four months of his life receiving acute care in the NICU and PICU, and until he was roughly three, existed inside a bubble formed in equal parts by Covid-era lockdown protocols and my own hyper-vigilance. But that’s a story for another day.

Now he’s six-and-a-half and doing great. As my husband and I have said many times, if they awarded yearbook superlatives to kids, his would be “Just Happy To Be Here.” And he is.

But as we gear up for the start of school, I can feel the winds of change blowing again — and I’m back to Carrie Mathison mode, staring at the board that is our family calendar.

On one hand, it’s a work of art: a color-coded masterpiece built over years of time spent with the older kids, trying and schlepping and hanging in there and figuring out rides and homework and when the heck to have dinner. Through this slog of experimentation, both of them have been lucky to find a handful of activities that pass my “Should We Do This?” checklist: Do you like doing the thing? Will you practice the thing on your own, willingly? Can we do it at a level that helps you keep improving, but isn’t psychotic and doesn’t cost eight million dollars per season? Is it walkable? If not, is there a carpool?

On the other hand, it’s becoming time to admit that this masterpiece of mine is missing a color: there is no William layer in my grand plan of extracurricular logistics.

I’d like to think that we’ve reached this point honestly and for good reason. It did take me a minute to get comfortable with the idea of Will doing anything at all! Emerging from the aforementioned bubble of perpetual worst-case-scenario thinking as it related to his health and safety was a slow and difficult process for me and for our family; I’m glad to be on the other side of it.

Now that we are, I still haven’t felt the urge to get Will into every class or clinic my older kids did because I know he’s getting what he needs in socialization, athletic training, and general entertainment from his sister and brother and their (very full) lives. Or at least I thought he was? Watching a few of his peers zoom around the soccer field last spring sent me into quite the compare-and-despair spiral. Some of these kids are the youngest children, too. Have we totally missed the boat?

As he enters first grade, I suppose it’s time to examine my approach. Has he really missed anything? Is this just the fate of the youngest child? Are we really “too busy,” or am I just resting on the laurels of the effort I’ve put in with my older two? Also, am I keeping Will from age-appropriate stuff he should be doing because I know deep down that the more he engages, the more I’d be forced to, as well? I don’t like to think of myself as a “no new friends” type of mom, but man! I’m really not in the mood.

When I asked parents with older kids what they thought of these questions, I expected the same tidal wave of advice and opinions I had gotten as an expectant mom. Turns out, everyone has the same view: They’ll be fine. Don’t force it.

Because for every day of a perfectly executed naptime/bedtime sequence for the first child, there’s a stayed-up-way-too-late-but-got-to-do-something-cool for the youngest. Like a sleepover with your cousins, or fireworks on Fourth of July.

For every organized, overpriced program an older sibling was signed up for, there’s an informal backyard practice session with the high school kid down the block who, oh by the way, is a D1 athlete in the making, and also super nice and fun.

For every time-filler class the oldest snoozed through, there’s a brother’s game or a sister’s recital the youngest one gladly attends, with eyes wide open, cheering on every play and move.

And for every rising middle schooler who is too cool for a hug from mom or dad, there’s a Barnacle Bill (as we’ve lovingly nicknamed Will) holding on tight, taking notes for his time in the sun.

Another all-knowing elder-mom texted me this morning with more reassurance about these youngest children: they figure it out.

I trust we all will. I suppose we always have? I also have to keep reminding myself that we're not starting from scratch here — and that's a good thing. This isn't the boil-the-ocean exercise it was for older kids; Will has been exposed to a whole lot, and as a result, has preferences (no soccer, yes baseball). Does this mirror what his brother is doing? Sure does. But maybe instead of viewing his siblings' commitments as a limiting factor in Will's experience, I should lean into the helpfulness of being able to go with what we know. Of following a blueprint that was never meant to box us (or Will) in, but provide a roadmap for getting started.

Catherine Nettleton lives outside New York City with her husband and three kids. Her writing focuses on grief and loss, parenting, and caregiving. For more, visit her Substack, Here's Hoping.