While I was happily childless, I watched friends and family around me become parents, throw themselves into the job of raising children; and talk endlessly about diapers and bottles and feeding and sleeping and playing. In those moments I wondered what the big fuss was really all about. What about a baby was so interesting, so compelling, that we twist ourselves into knots to get one, take drugs to help out, turn to science to get us a pregnant, go through the red-tape that is adoption.
I remained child-free, and swore I would not have children. At one point in time I seriously entertained the notion of having my tubes tied, only to find myself sitting across from a gentle and smart doctor. Without patting me on the head, rolling his eyes, or telling me I would change my mind, he talked me out of it.
A few years after that, I found myself building a life with a soldier. And for the first time, I wanted that baby. I wanted the morning sickness, the swelling ankles, the weird food cravings, that it took to get to a baby. When I found myself pregnant, even my fear of needles was diminished, I no longer squirmed when they took blood, I had to be healthy to keep the tiny life I was carrying around healthy. I took vitamins, tried to eat well (doughnuts not withstanding), and I wasn't even afraid of labor and delivery. I was very glad when the epidural came though.
And now… all those months, nearly a year after Layla really came into my life, I finally get it.
I saw it yesterday.
It was bath time, a normal, every day bath time, with toys and warm water and giggles and the rubber ducky song. Carl's shaving cream was nearby, and I squirted a glob into my palm, held it out to Layla, and she started to play with it. it was squished between chubby fingers, smeared on the tile, then on my cheek, all the while she giggled and jabbered, learning something new.
That's it, that's why I so willingly twist myself into knots, go outside when I am tired, sing songs I am so tired of hearing, read the same Dr. Seuss book over and over. For that wide eyed sense of wonder that comes over Layla's face every time she learns something new.
Everything is new. The green grass as it sprouts is new (although last night's frost killed it). The chirp of the birds is new. The pull chain on the fan is new, and a wondrous toy for her. Each new food that I introduce to her is an adventure. Pulling the patches off of Daddy's uniform is something that never gets old. Pulling laundry off of the couch as I fold it is the best fun game in the world.
Life was getting staid, getting old. Getting boring. And then I had Layla.
Seeing it through her eyes has given me a reminder that every day has countless little miracles in it, even one as simple as a handful of shaving cream.
No comments:
Post a Comment