Parenting. It's so fulfilling. Oh, it's so beautiful to see that we've created people. Seriously, we're like God here - we made people who are now untied from the umbilical cord and more and more becoming someone that's not attached to us. There's something more than profound about that experience.
I mean, yeah - this little cluster of cells that was nourished inside my body as I carefully ate the right foods and took the right prenatal vitamins, and then, finally sweated, and heaved, and ached, and moaned, and yelled, and pushed that little, tiny, helpless baby out of the place where she got in there. This little thing.
That needed me personally for every calorie for the first six months, and then relied on me to serve her those she didn't take from my body. That needed me to clean up every soiled diaper and spit-upped on clothing or blanket. The one who needed me to carry her from place to place, to doctor's appointments where my worth was being counted in ounces gained, and then milestones met.
This toddler that needed me to chase her and make sure that she wasn't bumping into corners or eating bugs or dirt or poisonous leaves. That needed me to sing to her so she could sleep or pick up her pacifier from under her bed in the middle of the night so she could go back to sleep. The toddler that needed me to give her the right stimulation and activities and teaching to make sure she was thriving and learning and meeting all of the same or better levels that her peers were meeting. That child.
This kid who was funny and tragic, who wore a tiara for an entire year as if it was the law. This kid who we watched dance in the middle of the street fair, alone, who would make friends with the bug she found on the ground and love all over the dog being walked down the street by our neighbor.
This child who one day said she thought she was fat, when she wasn't. Who was upset if someone looked at her crosseyed or didn't like her shoes. This child who cried in class, and wrote poetry about being scorned even though she barely knew what the word meant. This child who could become any character believably at will, and had us convinced that there was someone named Grandma Witch who came to visit and told us stories of her childhood, until she told us Grandma Witch died and we all mourned.
This adolescent who worried that her boobs were too small or her hair was too frizzy, or her nose was too big, or her zits were too red. Who wrote poetry and music, and could create realistic and artistic drawings to make you gasp. Who wrote stories that would bring you to tears of laughter or pain.
This teenager who was crushed when a guy older than her tried to get her to do things she wasn't ready for, and then she made out with two separate guys in the same week. This teen who wears tight shorts to school and worries that her legs look too big, or her shoes are the wrong brand. This teen who gets mean if she doesn't eat enough but doesn't realize that her mood swings are due to need for food. This teen who taught herself ukulele and writes the funniest, most touching, deep and silly songs, and sings them like an indie hippie woman without a care in the world.
This teenager who can look at you with eyes blazing with hate for no reason that you can think of, since you just asked her how the party was last night, and offered to take her around looking for a summer job, and paid for her summer online health class, and when you ask what's wrong, she says she's tired, or she doesn't feel like talking. This teen who you are afraid to leave alone in case she might cut herself, whose phone you check to make sure she isn't texting her friends about some problem you don't know about, and you search to see that she's not doing something that you didn't know about like drinking or smoking pot, even though you didn't see any evidence of it.
This teenager who can make you feel like utter dirt when you have no idea what could be hurting her that she would need to do this. This teenager who you love so much sometimes it hurts nearly as much as labor did. This teenager who you see becoming a young woman you'd love to spend time with, at the same time as you still see her as the child you want to hold in your arms until she falls asleep.
Parenting. Please let me survive.
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