The universal question that all new parents ask themselves is not, "How do I do this?" or "How can I, for the love of God, make this stop?" or even, "What in the hell is that thing?" No, you know you are a parent when you can sincerely ask the question, "How is it possible that I am alive today?"
To be sure, phrasing of this eternal question may vary to include: "How did my parents stand it?" "Why would anyone have a second child?" "Why didn't my mother or father abandon me and/or smother me with a pillow?" And so on.
The reason we parents are acutely aware of our own miraculous survival is that we fully understand how fragile and vulnerable are infant human beings - and how prone to danger. Truly, they do not raise themselves.
All of this is obvious, and yet you don't really understand until you've witnessed it first hand. After Swaddlini was born, Herr Guitar's right-wing proselytizing co-workers pursued him. Since becoming a father, could he finally grasp the insanity of the pro-choice movement? HG replied that fatherhood had made him more keenly aware of the issue, but it strengthened his resolve that anyone who doesn't want a baby shouldn't have one. Because regardless of when life begins, survival requires the aid of another. It's a constant, unwavering aid. And in return? Let's put it this way: you're lucky if you get nothing as long as you avoid having your hair pulled.
Parents are not aided by the fact that there is danger around every corner. Forget Bird flu, strangers with candy and Oprah, even the smallest threat will seem huge in the context of your child's well being.
Case in point, the mosquito.
As I set off this morning in my ritual of getting Swaddlini in the stroller and Angus on the leash for our pre-commute walk, I noticed something on the side of Swad's head.
A mosquito!
I freaked and swatted it. Not even thinking that I was also swatting the baby's head. That's right - I smacked my baby's head with at least three fingers. He started crying, and then so did I.
I looked at my hand. Dead bug, splattered with my son's blood.
The next line should read: Inevitable suicide. Or, Left baby with neighbor and then called 911 on self, am now safely locked away for life. But no, instead I managed to get the child to daycare and get myself to the office, all the while replaying the horror in my mind with
The Shining-like intensity (not the movie, but the book - which is truly horrifying). And there goes my day. How can I accomplish anything after such a run-in? How can I live with myself?
Let's review:
How could I have allowed a mosquito to land on my child? I was in the process of putting a hat on him, and he was otherwise fully covered - even though it was one of the hottest mornings so far this year. Am I supposed to spray him with DEET daily? If so, I will. Alternatively, is it possible to seal him away in some sort of chamber where no bugs can enter? Again, I will pursue this if available. Because to see a bloodsucker on your child's sweaty little head is like having a fingernail pulled out - i.e. physically painful.
OK, so I had to destroy the thing immediately. But how could I have acted so rashly and smashed the bug while still on my child's head? Swad had no idea there was a bug on him, he doesn't even know what a bug is (although, ironically, he was dressed in an ensemble featuring all sorts of bugs - damn you, The Children's Place!), all he knows is mommy struck him. Why?
And how could that little motherf@#$%ing mosquito have the gall to land on my precious baby's head? As sick as it sounds, if I could kill that thing several more times, in prolonged, sadistic ways, I would.
Lastly, how do parents do it? I really don't know. Even as I try to be a great mother, I can’t help but make mistakes. A perfectly innocent annoyance like a mosquito can open up all new avenues of potential neglect. So the question is, how does a mother who isn’t trying all that hard ever manage to do anything remotely well? Particularly those baby boomers who spent the 70s ignoring their children (you know who you are) – how is it possible that they now have grandchildren? My supremely self-involved mother-in-law may have been a nightmare to her kids, but shouldn't she get points for having made it this far with her offspring still alive (and somewhat well, at least physically if not emtionally)? And my mom? How did she raise my brother and me, on her own, with the added burdens of night school and a drinking problem?
I don't even know how they made time to be screwed up and selfish. I certainly haven't found the extra moments to dwell on my own ego or psyche. I envy single people with their made-up problems like "commitment phobia" and "manic depression." When you have kids, you realize that life is difficult enough without any added bullshit, and it's just easier to go to bed at 9 pm and hope you have the strength to get through another day with a healthy child and an in-tact scalp.
So, thank you mom and Dad. You weren't perfect, but you put up with me and fed me and kept me out of harm's way as best you could. I hope one day my son can say the same about me.
