During the pregnancy, I had the epiphany that I should stop getting upset that it wasn't what I expected and just let it be what it was. I've been developing a sort of similar epiphany about Thumper's early infancy, too. Every time I start to think I get him, that I understand him and his behavior and have developed an accurate working definition of What He's Like, he goes and changes on me. Then I get frustrated because what I thought I knew is no longer true, if it ever was. So I've been trying to deal with him moment to moment as he is, instead of bumping up against the places where he's not currently behaving as he was yesterday when I developed a successful working theory about what he does, or what he likes, or dislikes. I've decided there is no Grand Unifying Theory of Thumper.
Similarly, I don't think there can be any Grand Unifying Generalized Infant Theory. But as I've taken Thumper into the office a few times to visit, or otherwise out into public, I've noticed something about the people with adult, or near-adult, children of their own: their need to demonstrate their retention of of their masterful infant care skills. With little more than a glance at the boy, they tell me what he likes and dislikes. They tell me what works and what doesn't. One of my several bosses today, at the first sign of post-feeding goo spewing from the boy's mouth, began to rummage without invitation through my diaper bag, extracting the spit rag and wiping his mouth. Thumper's mouth, that is, not his own. He recalled that babies this, and babies that, and they like this, and prefer so. His youngest child is in high school now, and his oldest is a junior in college. I got the same sense from one of Mrs. Rodius' bosses, and several other parents with kids leaving the nest, or coming close to it. And it occurred to me that it's important to them to demonstrate, to themselves, and to me, and to anyone else in the room, that they still remember what it was like, that they still retain those skills they learned through hard-won experience all those years ago, that there's a pride not only in learning how to do it well, but in showing that you've still got it, all these years later.
Or maybe, with the end of childhood, they're nostalgic for the beginning. Or maybe that's the same thing.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
3 comments:
I've been one of those parents - I have. I'm guilty. And it comes not from wanting to show what I know, or be part of the conversation, or anything like that. I think it has to do with those early days being such a trial by fire that your emergency response system just immediately hops to and goes to work.
It might not happen to you, but I'm willing to wager that someday when Thumper is in highschool it might even happen to you (even though you will probably have the good sense to stop yourself!)
Be careful whose advice you buy, but be patient with those who supply it. Advice is a form of nostalgia. Dispensing it is a way of fishing the past from the disposal, wiping it off, painting over the ugly parts and recycling it for more than it's worth.
-Mary Schmich
I don't know if advice like this is a primal instinct to express superiority, or a reflexive response to what we perceive as a child's needs, but I think all parents feel that tug to offer parenting advice to new parents. Those of us who are more recently removed from the parenting of infants simply remember what a pain in the ass it is and zip our mouths.
I can see that my decision to refrain from giving you guys unsolicited parenting advice was the proper thing to do. It is tempting, since I am in the segment of the population you are referring to. The funny thing is, you will be there one day too, and you will remember and want to share what you are learning now. Will you also remember that your hard-earned wisdom isn't particularly welcomed? Time will tell!
Post a Comment