The Bauer Confidential

People love to expound upon the joys of parenthood.  When I was pregnant, I wondered if there was some sort of brain-washing going on.  I mean, people who already have children feel the need to tell parents-to-be about the wonderful experience they’re about to enjoy with great enthusiasm.  You’re told over and over how much you’re going to love your child, how it will be the most rewarding experience of your life, that it will change you fundamentally.  Being a bit of a cynic, it occurred to me that perhaps people feel the need to tell you all these things so you’ll want to become a parent and join them in the experience, perhaps justifying it to themselves at the same time.  Perhaps there is an evolutionary drive to convince people how great having kids is so that people will keep having kids.  Don’t get me wrong, I was sure hoping all the great things they said were true, but I had my doubts.  My pregnancy, despite being quite easy by a lot of standards, was no cake-walk.  Before I got pregnant, I was pretty satisfied with my life.  I enjoyed my independence, the freedom to make my own schedule and more or less do as I pleased.  Coming to terms with the sacrifices that I knew would come along with parenthood was the most difficult thing I experienced while pregnant, and I wanted to believe all the great things parents had to say so that it would all seem worthwhile.

And then Jocelyn was born, and I held her in my arms, and she was imprinted on my heart with a ferocity I could not previously fathom.  She gripped my finger with her tiny hand and I was bonded to her with a strength no force on earth could disrupt.  This morning I held her in my arms as she dozed and I gazed at her face, trying to memorize her every feature at this exact moment.  The way she pursed and pouted her lips, the occasional smile that would dance across her visage as she dreamed, her velvety hair and button nose, I wanted to be sure to remember it all forever.  All those parents were telling the truth, but even their sincerity and intensity could not fully describe the depth of love I feel for my daughter.  It is indescribable; the attachment is so intense and compelling that I cannot put into words the reality of my feelings.  And it must be this way, she needs me, needs us.  Babies engender such protective feelings, not only in their parents and relatives, but also in complete strangers.  We are compelled to protect them; we find them so adorable in their helplessness that we cannot help but take care of them.  And for the most part we are happy to do it, especially as parents.

People are constantly telling me to enjoy this time with Jocelyn, that it passes so quickly and you can’t get it back.  While I am trying to savor each day, I cannot help but look forward to her future.  Matthew and I often converse about what life has in store for our daughter.  What will she grow up to be?  Will she like sports and music?  Will she like the same things we do?  What does the world hold in store for her?  On a short-term level, I look forward to the day when she can express her needs to me so I’m not wondering if she’s still hungry, needs to burp, or is just tired.  But for now I try to respond to her cries, laugh at her smiles, and encourage her development.  And I can’t help but kiss her soft cheeks and forehead and cuddle her close, enjoying the feel of her in my arms and the impossible smoothness of her skin.  She is so small yet requires so much attention, but I try to remember to cherish these moments and store them away in my memory as both the most difficult and most rewarding of my life.