Updates for the Pacer

"I feel like I haven't been spending much time with Mom and Dad lately."

One night, tucked in bed before sleep, my eldest son, who had just started third grade, broke the silence with those words.
Having no particular idea why, I reflexively replied, "Really? Doesn't it feel the same as always?"

The conversation ended there. A while later, with my son breathing steadily beside me, my mind began to churn with unease.

I have so many regrets after the fact. I should just take my time to weave my words, but I always end up blurting out a quick response.
I'm not good at small talk at work, at drinking parties, or with other moms.
The closer I get to people and the more I talk, the more I start a solo reflection session afterward, thinking, "That was a bad way to put it," or "I should have said it differently."

How did my eldest son want me to respond?

In reality, our daily rhythm hasn't changed since last year.
Fortunately, he still values time with the family; we go to the park together on weekends, and we spend time clinging to each other in the living room at home.
He even says it's "scary" to go to a different room in the house alone, so he always brings someone with him—usually his younger brother. I wonder what good it does to bring a two-year-old along, but apparently, it's reassuring for him.

Some children start to drift away from their parents' care around the time they are in their final year of preschool.
I hear they go to nearby parks alone, play at friends' houses by themselves, and even sleep alone at night.
He shows no signs of that yet. That is precisely why I couldn't understand the true meaning of his words and wandered alone into a maze of thoughts in the dark.

That event became one of those memories that left me feeling uneasy, but a few days later, I found the answer.

At a parent-teacher meeting at elementary school, the words the homeroom teacher shared hit home.

I see, so that's what it was. I wasn't empathizing at all—what a surprise.

My words back then were indeed wrong. My response, "Doesn't it feel the same as always?" completely cut through his delicate, wavering feelings. Perfectly. It was completely useless.

The correct answer back then would surely have been, "I see, I understand! Can you tell me why you felt that way?"—a phrase that would have drawn close to his heart.
I have felt uneasy many times, but this was the first time I had been so beautifully wrong. I felt incredibly relieved and carved it into my heart to be careful from now on.

I was so glad I went to the parent-teacher meeting.
I realized that I had forgotten to make the effort to know "how my child is living right now."

During my pregnancy, I installed an app to learn about the baby's growth in detail and checked it almost every day. I looked forward to checking it while waiting for the bus I used to commute.
Even after he was born, until he was about five, I used an app that recorded his growth in detail, putting effort into gathering information in advance, like "Do they start doing this at this age?" It was an app I always opened in the restroom or in bed before sleeping.

The parenting app I checked every single day has disappeared from my smartphone before I knew it. It's completely gone.

As my eldest son became an elementary school student and started to need me less, I think I became somewhat complacent.
I charged ahead to finish the tasks in front of me, ending the day without any breathing room. In those daily routines, I might have overlooked his small changes, or perhaps I didn't even try to know them.
Regret and reflection. But I am glad I realized it now.
From now on, as his number one confidant, I just need to charge ahead with a new mindset as a "pacer" who walks by his side at the same pace, so he can move forward in his own way.