The hardest part about being a new parent isn't the stark change of lifestyle that has you pre-planning a five-minute trip to the gas station. It isn't the amount of patience it takes to get up from and go back to bed five times in one hour. The hardest part about being a new parent (or "old" parent I suspect) is the complete and utter vulnerability that instantly becomes you.
Every time I lift my child from his crib, it washes over me, this rawness and exposure: I wonder how I'll react if one day he looks at me and that light in his eyes is gone; I try to imagine how we'll afford the lawyer who has to defend me for what I'll do to the person who hurts him; I think if I loved him any more, the lump in my throat would travel down to my heart and explode it.
The gravity of parenthood is scary at times. You try not to let your mind wander to worse-case scenarios in an effort to keep your sanity.
This vulnerability isn't all that different from what comes with falling in love. In romance, you trust another person with some of your deepest emotions; you show them parts of who you are and believe they won't look away. Talk about risk. It's hard, and it's a wonder we ever do it all! I kind of get why people become hermits and close up their hearts. The sting of loss is a deep one, and sometimes "It's better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all" sounds more promising the other way around. Yet the majority mankind continues to expose itself in this way because the reward outweighs the risk.
And so it is with my baby. For every moment of intense, irrational anxiety, there is a stronger moment of joy when I see the huge smile on his face that I and I alone put there. There's nothing like the crazy, boundless bliss of holding that tiny body that's half-me and kissing his warm head. It's intoxicating -- intoxicating enough to overwhelm the crippling anxieties. Every wonderful moment I've had in my life comes pouring out in a moment, like Champaign that's just been uncorked.
But to get there, I had to expose myself.
"Making the decision to have a child is momentous. It is to decide forever to have your heart go walking around outside your body."
{Elizabeth Stone}
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4 comments:
and in a moment we glimpse the enormity of a love uncomprehensible -- all bundled up in a tangle of limbs and softness and sweetness.
Oh Lois - it is good to hear someone else voice what I felt instantly: "The gravity of parenthood is scary at times. You try not to let your mind wander to worse-case scenarios in an effort to keep your sanity."
I still have to keep my mind at bay. Although, now it wanders to other areas of potential hurt for my children - like emotional pain. And this is probably a more realistic anticipation of pain in their lives.
I wish I could say it gets easier. It doesn't. But the reward is still staggering.
You are articulating this so well! I tried to tell you how everything changes in significance. Some things subside, some ebb--it's an enormous love that does not diminish over time. This realization has caused me to be more patient with my over-protective parents. I realize now that I am indeed still their "child," even at 46. The longer you know your child, the more precious they become.
I love that Elizabeth Stone quote.
Mom is very helpful on this topic. I am still amazed at how she was (forgive the cliche) able to let go and let God.
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