Favorite Parts of Parenthood

Ah, parenthood. There are so many joys. I will explore but a few this rambling night.

The first thing that surprises me is that things that would gross me out with pretty much any other person, including myself, don't phase me in the slightest with my son. I just do what needs doing. In infancy, he got every possible bodily fluid on me. Often multiple times a day. I shrugged it off. My kid's nose is drippy, I wipe it. It has a boog, I get it out. No biggie. Now mind you, on anyone else and I would cringe at any of those. But one thing I hate above any and every thing else, is throwing up. I hate doing it. I hate hearing it, seeing it, smelling it, even thinking about it! I remember babysitting once as a 15-year-old, one of my charges got sick and didn't quite make it to the bathroom. I called my mom, gagging and crying, asking her what to do and begging her to come over and help me. She didn't. I lived and managed to not get sick myself. Fast forward __ years. Yesterday, I went to pick up my son from his crib. At some point, he got sick. (it didn't seem to bother him in the least, as he was still happy, talkative, and playful. Not sure what caused it, but he was fine.) The aroma hit me when I opened the door. Instead of freaking, gagging, and crying, I stripped him down, got him in the tub, and cleaned him. I got the bed stripped, washed, and never cringed at carrying down the laundry. I wiped down his mattress and bear. I opened the window and turned on the fan. And all was well. Yep, there's just not much I can't handle when it's my own kid.

Except...the second of my favorite parts of parenting. Ok, this one's even more sarcastic than part 1. He's almost two. He enjoys playing independently. He likes being with me and with others. He's generally a very agreeable child who's a joy to be around. But he's almost two. He's learning to assert his independence in a less than desirable manner. The tantrums. If he wants to do something, or not do something, the crocodile tears instantly appear. The kicking and flailing kicks in. The screaming fit ensues. And this kid can literally turn it all off and on like a faucet. I think that's one of the things I find most frustrating. He can instantly stop, if he's so inclined. And restart if he changes his mind. The other thing that is probably frustrating for us both is his lack of communication. I don't know if he would have fewer fits if he had words. But it's so difficult for me to not always know specifically what he wants. I'm sure it's equally hard on him to feel like his mom just doesn't get what he's indicating. Argh! I know that "this, too, shall pass." And I know he's not as bad as he could be. And I'm pretty sure he's not as bad as he will be. I try to have patience and ignore it. But my gracious, can that child test my limit!

The third perk of parenthood I shall enumerate this evening is absolutely serious and in no way sarcastic. I adore the freedom to be silly and child-like with him with no embarrassment or shame. I can sing and dance in the kitchen without anyone thinking I'm nuts. I can chase my son up the sidewalk like a goofball and not worry. Or I can do what I did today. I went outside with my husband and my son and played in the rain. It was coming down pretty hard. We found a stream in the street and stomped and jumped. We ran around getting absolutely soaked to the bone. I threw him up in the air, without worrying about the ceiling, and laughed as he squealed with abandoned delight. Some of the neighbor kids were watching. I don't know if they thought I was stupid, crazy, and that my son had the coolest mom ever. And I didn't care. I had so much fun playing and splashing. And he had so much fun playing in the puddles with his parents. He may not remember this. But I'll never forget it. And that freedom of joy and laughter makes all the tantrums and body functions pale in comparison. Parenthood is delightful!