Loved it, especially this: "... lilliputs your parents in their place."
This brought tears...I will always have this memory of my father: soothing my chicken-poxed body with cream and lotions all through the night, while my mother slept. Even with memories of the countless times he hit me, punished me, this is one memory that will not go away.
OH MY GOD how do you not just die on the spot to have that adorable little girl come up to you and ask you to keep her nice and safe?
We're in the throes of early babyhood right now - thanks for reminding us to enjoy the three a.m. feeding and snuggling, and the fleeting simplicity of comforting our child.
Years ago, at that stage when you're grown up but still a child at heart, the sister of my girlfriend at the time had a baby and when we visited them in hospital, the thought struck terror into my heart: just what are you going to do with it? How does it work? And: it's going to be there for .. forever!
Years passed. My own children came. And the best thing about it was the confidence that instinct brought. You could almost say I'd become ripe for responsibility.
Excellent, excellent post.
I think a big part of being a parent these days is the realization that we will always, at least in some ways, feel like we are not doing enough. Our generation (for the most part) were raised by boomers in the eighties who spent more time on themselves than raising their kids. As a reaction to that, many modern parents (who themselves felt "underparented" as children) make a conscious effort to ensure their children always feel cared for. It's impossible, just as your example from your childhood demonstrated.
But it won't stop most of us from trying.
My daughter will not cuddle with us 99.9% of the time. She is very independant and doesn't like to be confined to our arms.
I can totally relate to just sitting with your child in your arms for hours, because they are willing to let you do it. Unfortunately for me, that is usally in the middle of night on the rare occasion that teething will wake her up. While we wait for the tylenol and oragel to kick in, she will sit in my arms and hold on tight. It sucks that those are only the times she'll allow it, but boy am I going to miss that feeling someday.
I am a volunteer for the local hospital's "Parenting Program". It's desinged to be an extra level of support for brand new parents in addtion to their families and friends. I will never forget one family that I went to explain the program to. They were on board for everything we offered ( which is rare). The dad was so funny. He said "Sign us up! We need all the help we can get! Did you know they're going to send us home with her? All.By.Ourselves." And it's so true.
oops hit publish too soon.
What I meant to say is it's so true...your whole pregnancy you think about having the baby and then once you do it's: Oh shit! I"m responsible for this little thing.
Dutch you are so right in your description of being a new parent.
Fab post, again!
i didn't realize what a fantastic father i have until i was an adult. i'm sure that wasn't awesome for my father.
I'm so dumbfounded by the idea that she comes to you and asks you to keep her nice and safe. I imagine that's probably just about as close to nirvana as it gets.
it is so hard to re-adjust your perception of your parents as equals once you become a parent- to imagine the icons you once had as authority figures were once stumbling blindly through this the same way we currently are is, well, just weird. i mean, parents know everything, right? except for me, who expects that nearly every choice i make is going to irreparably harm this child for life. so strange to re-understand our parents as experiencing the same doubts.
oh, and sci-fi dad? thanks for writing chapter two of my dissertation in four sentences. for the love of god could i pay you to flesh that out into about 50 pages? seriously, that'd be great.
I'm so jealous of you and your good dad.
As a parent and unabashed dog lover I offer you kudos sir.
Completely relate to "Now that she's talking so much and demanding so much more of me, I can't help but feel that I am failing her..." - and absolutely loved your post...
Thanks.
I was not expecting to come here and start crying. Damn you Dutch!
That was just incredibly, beautifully stated.
An amazing post.
as is so often said in these comments... you made me tear up at work. This was such a sweet post it literally hurts. I love it.
Exactly how I've been feeling these past few days.
You come to have a deeper appreciation for your own parents once you become one yourself.
You know, I don't, actually, appreciate my parents. I'm one of those freaky high-achieving-for-the-kind-of-childhood-I-had individuals. I never had a father, only a series of n'er do wells my mother married, and with my mother, well, we haven't spoken in nearly 20 years. So parenting, for me, is rather a blank slate informed by culture and books and trying to be a good human.
Nevertheless, from very different places, we end up in the same boat: I work to give my 2-yr-old the feelings you describe, safety and warmth, and the kind of parents you describe: two! two good ones!
Anyhoo, you really nailed that feeling of increasing and inevitable failure as they grow. So weird. I hope you're right. I hope helping our babies to sleep through the night, through their fear and hard times, is enough, because I see that it's sometimes all we'll be able to do.
I kind of came from the "not so great" childhood experience, where the tender moments like that are so few and far between, and there are a lot more unhappy ones I have spent years disassembling in order to put myself back together "right". I was so afraid to become a parent, because I thought I'd inadvertently pass on some fucked-up-ness from my own childhood that I wasn't even aware of. And, I have noticed, that indeed I am still finding things broken in me that need repair as I parent. I don't know if I will ever feel like I'm doing enough to make it up to her when I fail her, but Lordy I will ALWAYS keep trying.
I loved this "Dada keep me nice and safe?" Maggie's version of this is "Hold you?" Kills me every time.
And one thing I think we new parents need to keeep in mind: we will fail our children in some way. We won't try to, or mean to, but there will be somewhere we screw up badly. We're imperfect just like our parents were. But as long as we remain where they go to feel nice and safe, the less-than-perfect moments fade. Knowing that I am creating Maggie's sense of what "home" is is enormously meaningful to me, but also really overwhelming sometimes. I know it's a place she feels valued and loved and where her needs will be met, and I have to figure that's what she'll carry into adulthood, not "My mom yelled sometimes."
Sure, it's important to have that bottom-line confidence that we're creating a space of safety and love for our children, but I think it's also ok to discuss our feelings of worry, even of failure, as our kids grow--worrying, if not overdone, keeps us on our toes. It's not a drive for perfection, I don't think, so much as a concerted effort to stay thoughtful about a super important type of thing.
The memory of your father comforting you while you were anxiety-ridden in the 5th grade really struck a chord with me. Well done.
The part about feeling like you're already failing her...
I think that's actually an important step in growth, to experience the small failings of one's parents. Life is full of larger failings, disappointments, significant or insignificant. Knowing that failings like that can happen but afterward there are hands stroking your head as you sleep and a shoulder on which to rest your head and be "safe and warm" teaches kids that disappointment isn't a permanent condition.
Beautiful post.
you are one of the most emotive writers i have ever read. honestly. thank you for sharing these thoughts with strangers like me.
That's a beautiful memory of your father. My dad got sentimental about a dog, too, though he's a 100% macho all-American guy normally. When we buried her, he put snow underneath her and boughs from the pine tree above her, because she loved to lie in the snow under the pine tree. It broke my heart when he told me, to picture my big, rough father and his work-worn hands gently putting down the snow, laying our dog to rest, covering her with pine. It's amazing how love can show you so many different sides of one person.
Superb post - I wish I had the time and eloquence to express the depth of feeling that I share with you. I've lived through the loss of both of my parents, and just a few days ago my favorite cat.(not in the same league by any stretch, but a lot more immediate) My dear daughter is a little too young to understand the concept of death, and I'm struggling to explain what happened to the damn cat my Dear Alex was so darn attached to. Great post - I most assuredly get it. Love the new puppy.
g.
You always make me cry, your posts are so beautiful.
I loved this post. So sweet. Made me miss my dad ...
God, to think of your dad sitting with you that night, hurting for you and comforting you. Now when Juniper needs you (i.e. b'day meltdown) you know what he was feeling. Luckily he equipped you to feel it a little more easily than it all came to him. It clearly was hard for him but he cared enough to try and look what he got in return...the deep love and gratitude of his child. This is the whole point of the parenting thing. Good for him. Good for you.
I am not an animal person in the least, which made this a really lovely read. Not everything can be fixed with words.
Exactly. EXACTLY. Fear and love are - MUST BE - so far beyond words.
How did I miss this? I cried.
I am in tears at work. Thanks. You really have an amazing ability to articulate just how I feel about many, many things. I dread the day I actually catch up to present day on your blog.
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