Imagine that the person you love most in this world suddenly got a severe brain injury that has impaired their ability to do...well, just about everything. They can't do much more than look around, scream, and thrash a bit. And for some crazy reason, you've elected to care for them, day and night. Weeks go by with no real change. You get no positive reinforcement from this person except the brief moments when they don't seem completely miserable. You're hardly getting any sleep but still there's nowhere else you'd rather be. You love this person to bits and taking care them is what keeps you going. You talk to them and read to them as if they can understand you but part of you worries that they'll never understand, that they'll be this way forever.
One day, you're talking to them as usual, not really expecting anything but you notice that they're looking intently at you. Suddenly, a smile breaks out on their face...and it is the most beautiful, the most amazing thing in the world. Not because there's anything particularly unique about the way the smile looks but because of what it means: this person recognizes you, is delighted by what you're doing, and is able to interact positively with you. It's the same whenever they regain the ability to do anything from there on out. When they laugh, it's the most beautiful sound in the world because it means that they
can laugh.
It's probably become pretty obvious that this is an analogy to raising a baby. This morning I was thinking about my brother Chris and how he'd gotten a pretty severe head injury about 10 years ago. I certainly wasn't caring for him day and night but I did visit him in the hospital regularly. It is such a terrifying feeling to know that while this person I loved was still alive, he could be lost to me forever. One day I was visiting while his occupational therapist was working with him. She asked him who I was and he answered in a completely casual tone, "that's my sister, Laura." It was amazing. I haven't felt anything like it since, until I had a baby.
Of course it's not a perfect analogy. Maybe not even a good one since one involves a tragedy and rediscovery and the other one is simply discovery. But not too long ago, I really didn't get why parents are so universally amazed by the seemingly mundane things that their kids do. Now I feel like maybe there are no ordinary, mundane things. There are only a whole bunch of extraordinary things, made all the more special because I can remember a time when any given thing that my child can do was impossible to him. Nothing should be taken for granted. Especially since it's impossible to know how much time we've got with the ones we love. It's one of those things that we all know intellectually but it's so hard to retain the knowledge viscerally. Maybe it's the reason for all those cliches out there; having all sorts of happy, trite reminders frees us from the burden of constantly carrying such heavy knowledge.
Oh dear. As usual, I've gotten a bit tangential. Okay, so, the point. The point is that this Father's Day has got me thinking about parenthood in general. I feel like it should go without saying what an awesome dad Ryan is to Bears but I guess I'd better mention it anyway. I'm so glad that I get to be with someone who's not only an awesome husband but who also shares my obsession with the little cub we're raising. Bears lights up whenever he sees his daddy and it's so cute to watch them play together. Ryan works long hours every day making it so that every day I get to stay home and play with our baby. Parenting is incredible and I'm so, so glad that I get to do it as a team instead of alone. What a daunting idea.
