When my children were born, they were perfect. We were fortunate to have two children who were delivered healthy, robust and "normal" in almost every way. Shortly after birth, that "perfect" child becomes somewhat less than perfect. And that's okay. Every individual is different and every person has their strengths and weaknesses. What has struck me is that as a parent you immediately have to start accepting what is, and what will never be with your children.
For example, my son was born with a small mole on his elbow. Yikes! This is a terrible situation. It must be corrected quickly, because I envisioned it growing along with his tiny arm and being quarter-sized and frightful by the time he got to junior high. He would be shunned, he would never have friends. The sky is falling type of thoughts went through my head. It was one of the first "unperfect" moments I had with my son. Today, I've forgotten all about the mole. I think it's still there, but it may have faded. I haven't looked in a while. He also had cradle cap, continues to have eczema, is plagued with an egg allergy and is knock-kneed.
But he's still got all the potential a "perfect" child has. He could discover a cure for cancer or become the president or develop a method to reverse the increasing greenhouse gasses. Or, he might be a super dad and make his children very happy. He can still do all of that, even with a mole and an egg allergy.
As he grows older, instead of broadening what children can do or become, the list will slowly shrink instead to what they will do. That vast potential, including what I'd like them to do, will become focused on what they decide to do, or can do.
I think that can be a tough thing for parents. I don't think as a child we can even begin to appreciate what our parents go through as they watch their children grow. They have to continually re-evaulate what their child will be capable of. Some of it is easy, "Whew, my child doesn't want to be a lawyer." And some of it can be terribly difficult, "My child has been diagnosed with autism."
As an adult, I can look back on my life and see some things my parents did as they accepted who I was and who I was becoming. Some things stand out, just little things. For instance, my father is an avid collector of ... stuff. Things. Good things. Interesting things. He's got "the eye" for something of quality or something of value. He also likes to collect just for the sake of collecting, because having a great collection is a lot of fun.
I got the collecting gene from him. It's not really a gene, but the instinct is strong in me. I remember being in the basement one time and seeing a cardboard box full of cut-out comic strips from the paper. Reading the comics was something I did on Sundays. I read most of the comics, but there were a few that were too old for me. One of them was Prince Valiant. It wasn't funny, there wasn't a punch line, or if there was, I didn't get it. It was little bits of a story it seemed, and those bits were boring.
My father had been cutting out and keeping those comic strips for years. To me, it seemed like it must have been forever, because the box was full. I asked him about what they were and he said he was saving them in case I might want to read them someday.
I never read them. I suppose he threw them out at some point. I don't know if he was sad that I never became interested in Prince Valiant. Perhaps it was one of those things a parent does when they accept the reality of the future instead of the future they'd envisioned.
Speaking of my father, he's a magician and I love to watch magic. It's fascinating how the tricks are done. To me, it's far more impressive to know what has to happen to make a trick work effortlessly than the supposed "magic" of the illusion. Hours and hours he'd practice. I don't know if he ever had hopes I'd become a magician; if he did, he never pressed magic on me. I look at my little boy who has this intent look on his face when he's trying to figure something out and I wonder if maybe he'll want to do magic and carry on my father's art.
My children are young, the oldest isn't even two yet. But I've come to realize as a parent, from the day they're born, you begin accommodating yourself to what your children actually are, not what you imagined they'd be. And you do so a little bit every day. Life is largely about accepting what will never be, and being grateful for what things have become.
The Big Boy Update: Talk the talk. Suddenly he's saying far more recognizable words and is making short, descriptive sentences. Within just the past few days he's seemed to verbally explode. Words we didn't know he knew, verbs to describe things we didn't know he understood.
The Tiny Girl Chronicles: Walk the walk. Suddenly yesterday she decided the thing she wanted to do more than anything else, was walk. She could walk a few steps, but preferred to crawl in most cases. She cruised around with great ease, but she didn't seem intent on walking until yesterday when toys weren't interesting, only walking from one place to the next and then back to the first place. There is still a good bit of falling down and she likes to hold her hands above her head for balance, which is all kinds of cute, but she's definitely more upwardly mobile.
Fitness Update: Sandy the hurricane sent some rain and wind this way, not to mention colder weather and no running has happened yet. Less than a week until the half-marathon.
Someone Once Said: Life consists in accommodating oneself to the Universe.
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