Parenthood consistently surprises me.
In parenthood I find that many of my preconceived notions are unrelated to the truth – not unlike the way I feel about my relationship with adulthood, and my ‘being in it’, or whatever. And if they’re not completely unrelated, they’re something else. It’s like my ideas only began to grasp the depth and width and many-layered nature of the truth. Which isn’t that surprising, really. It’s just the where I was wrong about things that surprises me, if that makes any sense.
So, when you’re a kid (and even still, sometimes), there is no comfort to rival that of a parent’s. My mom’s hands were always cool enough to comfort me when I was sick or feverish: her voice was always calm enough to speak some sense that I could understand. I always knew that my dad could fix any problem because he was big and strong and well, Dad. Is there anything that can be more soothing than to be very small and climb up on the lap of someone much bigger and have them tell you it will be okay?
I’ve assumed that now, since becoming a mother, I am that bigger person whose merest ‘shhh’ could send a toddler into slumber. And it is nice to really feel Knox relax in my arms, to know I have that comforting power.
What I didn’t expect was that I would once again be the comforted. What I didn’t know was that a baby, who can’t talk or walk or count to three, would with a glance be able to bring me a peace that’s almost like I’m small again and not in charge. My helpless son doesn’t know that I have to see him after a day of chaos at school, he doesn’t know that his smile has prevented me from having a very public meltdown in a Walmart.
Is this a lot of pressure to put on an infant? Or is it normal? I’m not sure.
Unrelated Side Notes on Parenthood:
- I hate the cartoon ‘Olivia’ on Nick Jr., I feel compelled to admit it. That pig is pain in the ham, her parents don’t discipline her for doing idiotic things, she has an art teacher whose favorite art supplies are “sparkles” and “glitter” and also invited the entire class to her wedding. I think I could start a separate blog reviewing the shows on Nick Jr.; I’m already compiling some grievances against ‘The Backyardigans’ and don’t even get me started on Peppa Pig and her uncomfortably phallic family.
- There isn’t anything worse than having a band-aid on your body, then not having a band-aid on your body and sub-sequentially knowing there’s a bloody band-aid somewhere in the house where your very curious baby lives.