The Baby
I stood and looked down into the bassinet. I’d forgotten how small babies are when they’ve just arrived. A wash of thoughts and emotions flowed through me as I contemplated the infant boy. The foremost emotion was a desire to touch. I wanted to rub my hand across the soft down covering his tiny head. I wanted to feel the little warm head cradled in the palm of my hand. I wanted to hold the baby up against my shoulder and smell the scents that only babies have. I wanted to close my eyes and rock the baby. I wanted to remember what it was like when the baby I held was mine.
The second thought was a flood of memories that remind me why I’m currently glad not to have an infant. Adapting your life to meet the needs of an infant is hard. It is one of the hardest things I have ever done. I remember the emotional turmoil and physical exhaustion that accompany having a baby. People always talk about diapers, as if disposing of waste is the hardest thing. Diapers are easy. When they smell, you change them. Much harder was all the anticipation. The planning ahead and nudging feeding times so that they nestled with the other events of the day. The staring at a rash on your baby’s skin and trying to figure out if it matches the descriptions of common harmless infant conditions, or whether it matches that other description of a rash you should take to the doctor immediately. The exhausted frustration when baby falls asleep after an hour of crying only to wake again 10 minutes later. Feeling totally overwhelmed at the contradictory advice; all with the direst warnings about possible irrevocable consequences if I got it wrong. I wondered how I was going to manage the rest of childhood if I could barely handle feeding, diapering, and rocking to sleep.
The baby’s mother let me hold him for awhile. I did tuck him up on my shoulder and hold him close. I think that once you’ve had a baby, those sensations are forever wired into your brain. Holding a baby, I can remember the soft glowing times amidst the hard times. In fact the remembrance of those glowing moments assaults me and almost makes me wish to have it back again. It was wonderful and it was hard. I don’t really want to do all of it again right now, but I would not trade the experiences for anything. Even better, I have all the children that my four babies grew into and they continue to grow and delight me every day.
I handed the baby back to his mother. She cradled him close and I watched her for a moment. He is her first baby. She still has ahead of her so many of the experiences that are behind me. Joy and heartache both await her. I sought for something helpful to say. I finally settled on “Have you had the moment where you’re holding your baby and bawling because you feel like your life is over and you feel guilty because you’re supposed to love your baby but you just don’t because he ruined your life?” Tears came to her eyes as she answered that yes she had. There may be new parents who never feel that, but every time I’ve asked, the new parent always answers yes, relieved to not be alone.
Expectant parents go to classes, and read books, and try to prepare all that they can. This is like trying to learn how to swim by standing at the side of the pool practicing arm and leg motions. Babysitting is like splashing on the steps of the pool. When you finally have your baby, you’re thrown off the edge into the deep water. All that preparation may help reduce the panic, but nothing prepares you for the sensation of the water and the knowledge that the bottom is a long way down.
This mother is fortunate. She has lots of close friends and family nearby to help her. She has people to lend her more rope when she reaches the end of hers. I had that too. I know there are many new parents who don’t and I wonder how they survive. It takes a village to raise a child. It takes a village to keep the parents sane while the kids grow up. I had, and continue to have, villages for my kids. Now it is my turn to be part of the village for others. It is time for me to put my experiences to good use. Parenting is like a refiners fire, excruciating and transforming, but what survives is much stronger than the sum of what went in.