December 2002 Issue - Essay # 9
The
Second Time Around
By Angela D.
Connor
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Needless
to say, the comments of those close to me (and even those not so close)
over the past year, have been alarming at best. It seems that my level
of loyalty has come under fire on more than one occasion, and I’m
participating in behavior that I’ll never have the desire to repeat. “You
won’t buy the most expensive diapers, next time, ” they warn.
“There’s no way you’ll sit around the house holding the
next one for hours at a time,” they advise. An aunt even told me that
the ten months worth of Saturday nights that my husband and I spent
staring at one another and our beautiful daughter before we got the
nerve to leave her alone with a babysitter was a “one-time
phenomenon.” She says
I’ll be begging her to baby-sit the next one before I’m even home
from the hospital. 'Where
do all of these snide comments and unsolicited advisories come from?' I
asked myself. 'Why is everyone being so critical? Why don’t they
understand my maternal instincts and inherent overprotective nature?' I
think I have the answer now: Experience. It’s not that they don’t
understand me, they understand completely because they’ve been there.
But they also have something that I don’t have much of: Experience
raising children. More than one. The
reflection upon my parenting came when I least expected it. It happened
as I was preparing invitations for Kalyse’s first birthday party. I
began thinking a lot about my parenting over the past year. What I’d
done as a parent and how I’d changed. My confidence has soared and
I’ve definitely come into my own. If I had to give myself a grade,
I’d say I’ve earned an A. Okay, maybe I’m grading myself on a
curve, but even without it, I’m at least a very strong B plus. Four
weeks shy of having a full year of parenting behind me, I can now see
things objectively, and I understand things that I was clueless about
this time last year. I’m not implying that the grass was greener on
the other side of parenthood, just that the tint of my rose-colored
glasses is fading now that I’ve been in the trenches for almost twelve
months and have a handle on what’s really important. Experience is
definitely the best teacher and, oh, the lessons I’ve learned.
I’ve
realized that the Winnie-the-Pooh shrine that is her bedroom is more for
me than it is for her. I marvel at my decorating skills every time I
walk past, and I often do a double take just to feed my own ego. The
interior decorators on the Home and Garden channel have nothing on me. I
must have missed my true calling. Talk about Feng-Shui. The
truth is, she doesn’t care where she sleeps, as long as I can get to
her in five seconds flat when she wakes up in the middle of the night
crying. The toys don’t seem to matter much either. Don’t get me
wrong, she loves to play and she doesn’t ignore the push toys, hand
puppets, piano, building blocks, flashcards and oversized stuffed
animals, but her toys of choice are an empty 2-liter bottle, an old
magazine (with pages she can rip out at will) and a large plastic spoon.
The
expensive cherry cradle that was as much of a necessity as a diaper
genie was probably slept in for a total of twenty days, if that, before she
outgrew it and moved into a crib. Sure, it was good enough for naps, but
I believe there was some sort of two-hour time limit attached to it.
Yes,
I held her a great deal, and I still do, but that’s for both of us. A
baby needs to feel it’s mother’s love.
And I know that someday, from my experience as a daughter, she
won’t want me to come near her, and wouldn’t dream of cuddling with
Mommy in a rocking chair. Call
me crazy, but I’m 99.9 percent sure that I’d do the same things if I
had it to do all over again. She’s my first, and never have I known
such an urge to do everything by the book and make life perfect. My
daily prayers before and after her birth have been for the ability to be
the best parent I can possibly be and for the luxury of giving her the
best of everything, physically and emotionally. I want to load her up
with self-confidence and a true moral compass. And I wouldn’t mind at
all if I do such a good job, that she turns out to be a world-renowned
surgeon, self-made millionaire or head of a prestigious law-firm. However,
as my husband and I begin discussing the possibility of having number
two,
we can’t hide our pleasure about the fact that we’re already in
possession of the big ticket items like car seats, a crib, a high chair,
and a stroller. Of course we want number two to have the best as well,
and I’m convinced that he or she will. After all, the Winnie-the-Pooh
shrine has had only one occupant to date, and inheriting a cradle with
mileage of less than 25 two-hour naps isn’t half-bad either. I will
still buy the expensive diapers, because I like them best, and I’ll
probably hold and cuddle her as much as I can. But the toy-chest will
probably remain the same size it is now, and depending on the sex,
it’s more than likely that the outfits will get a second shelf life.
One thing that will remain constant and new is the unconditional love
and commitment received from Mom and Dad. And
just so that number two doesn’t feel the least bit slighted, the
level of expectation will certainly be as high. After all, every
world-renowned surgeon needs an equally qualified colleague to
collaborate with on articles for Medical Journals. And, a self-made
millionaire can’t hold on to her riches without a top-notch financial
planner handling her affairs. And who wants to build a law firm from the
ground up without a partner? Call
it an assumption, but thirty years from now, I don’t think number two is
going to hold a grudge against me for giving him or her a slightly used
car seat, or a first birthday party with one clown instead of two and a
little less fanfare. After all, he or she will probably be working long
hours at the hospital, or performing important medical research with
that colleague, and won’t have much time to complain at all. |
| Author's Biography Angela
Connor is a broadcast producer in Ft. Lauderdale, She is married with a two-year-old daughter and has re-committed herself to her novel with plans of completing it by May of next year. She has been published on various
e-zines and sees herself
writing until the day she dies. E-mail Angela at AConnor@attbi.com
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Essay
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