A paean to parenthood
Sep. 28th, 2005 02:38 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
radegundA friend recently spent some time with me and Oisín, having not seen us for a while. Oisín was sick and was being, frankly, a monumental pain in the arse. He was out of sorts for most of the time my friend was with us, and he became heartbroken if I so much as put him down while I buttered bread. During a lull in the whinging, I somewhat wickedly asked my friend for her on-the-spot assessment of parenthood, and she confessed that she was finding it a bit hard to see the point.
So I've been mulling this over. What is the point? Why am I so unshakeably willing to put up with the relentless physical and emotional demands, the repetitiveness of it all, the broken sleep, the oozing of shit and the smearing of spoo? And I've come to the not very original conclusion that it's a long-term endeavour like any other - a novel, a sporting goal, a doctorate. The framework within which we undertake these things sustains us through the difficulty.
At the time, I'm afraid I trotted out the old chestnut, "it's different when it's your own child". But the thing is, that's true. Not because of some Mystical Bond of Blood, but because when it's your own child it's your endeavour, willingly undertaken. Just as I might have difficulty understanding why a committed runner, say, goes out even on wet, freezing mornings, people without children must sometimes wonder about - or even doubt - my claim that all the hardship is worth it.
There's also the "you have a brain, therefore you couldn't possibly enjoy the company of a baby/toddler" school of thought, which is significantly more prevalent than I'm comfortable with. I've grown up with the unspoken assumption that intellectual work is superior to any other kind, and that interaction at the level of language is the most worthwhile, but recently I've been questioning that.
Someone who pays occasional visits to our house may see me engaged in an endless succession of small tasks, complete with commentary - reroll overlong trouser legs, wipe dribbly chin, roll ball, receive ball, bounce ball, throw ball, read first page of Dear Zoo, move cup of tea out of reach, hand over mobile phone, receive mobile phone, conduct imaginary conversation with someone who isn't there for the benefit of someone who doesn't understand, hand over mobile phone, receive half-chewed bread crust, read first three pages of Dear Zoo, wipe nose, receive ball, throw ball, receive ball, roll ball, receive mobile phone, conduct different imaginary conversation, hand over mobile phone, receive mobile phone, hand over mobile phone, receive mobile phone, hand over mobile phone, receive mobile phone, hand over mobile phone, stack stacking cups, unstack stacking cups, stack stacking cups, unstack stacking cups, group stacking cups by colour, surreptitiously retrieve mobile phone from floor, receive ball, bounce ball, throw ball, reroll overlong trouser legs, wipe dribbly chin, read first page of Dear Zoo...
It must seem utterly mindless.
What the visitor doesn't see is that the business of this week is subtly different from the business of last week. Catching a thrown ball is a new skill, and so is lifting the flaps to reveal the animals on the pages of Dear Zoo. Also, the sound he makes as he hands me the book seems to be consistent (although it's nothing like "book"). The dribbling may mean that a new tooth is on the way, so we should be on the lookout for other symptoms, and I don't think he could have reached that tea the week before last.
Progress, you see. Constant tiny changes, happening before my eyes. It's wonderful to watch.
The difference with a child, of course, is that there is no end product I'm aiming for. In fact, the product is already there - he's as much of a person as I am, or you are; I helped to make him, but he is not mine. Parenthood is a collaborative effort. And in a way, there is no "point". But there's a shape - an intricate, unique, unpredictable shape, and one that I hope to be exploring for the rest of my life.
So I've been mulling this over. What is the point? Why am I so unshakeably willing to put up with the relentless physical and emotional demands, the repetitiveness of it all, the broken sleep, the oozing of shit and the smearing of spoo? And I've come to the not very original conclusion that it's a long-term endeavour like any other - a novel, a sporting goal, a doctorate. The framework within which we undertake these things sustains us through the difficulty.
At the time, I'm afraid I trotted out the old chestnut, "it's different when it's your own child". But the thing is, that's true. Not because of some Mystical Bond of Blood, but because when it's your own child it's your endeavour, willingly undertaken. Just as I might have difficulty understanding why a committed runner, say, goes out even on wet, freezing mornings, people without children must sometimes wonder about - or even doubt - my claim that all the hardship is worth it.
There's also the "you have a brain, therefore you couldn't possibly enjoy the company of a baby/toddler" school of thought, which is significantly more prevalent than I'm comfortable with. I've grown up with the unspoken assumption that intellectual work is superior to any other kind, and that interaction at the level of language is the most worthwhile, but recently I've been questioning that.
Someone who pays occasional visits to our house may see me engaged in an endless succession of small tasks, complete with commentary - reroll overlong trouser legs, wipe dribbly chin, roll ball, receive ball, bounce ball, throw ball, read first page of Dear Zoo, move cup of tea out of reach, hand over mobile phone, receive mobile phone, conduct imaginary conversation with someone who isn't there for the benefit of someone who doesn't understand, hand over mobile phone, receive half-chewed bread crust, read first three pages of Dear Zoo, wipe nose, receive ball, throw ball, receive ball, roll ball, receive mobile phone, conduct different imaginary conversation, hand over mobile phone, receive mobile phone, hand over mobile phone, receive mobile phone, hand over mobile phone, receive mobile phone, hand over mobile phone, stack stacking cups, unstack stacking cups, stack stacking cups, unstack stacking cups, group stacking cups by colour, surreptitiously retrieve mobile phone from floor, receive ball, bounce ball, throw ball, reroll overlong trouser legs, wipe dribbly chin, read first page of Dear Zoo...
It must seem utterly mindless.
What the visitor doesn't see is that the business of this week is subtly different from the business of last week. Catching a thrown ball is a new skill, and so is lifting the flaps to reveal the animals on the pages of Dear Zoo. Also, the sound he makes as he hands me the book seems to be consistent (although it's nothing like "book"). The dribbling may mean that a new tooth is on the way, so we should be on the lookout for other symptoms, and I don't think he could have reached that tea the week before last.
Progress, you see. Constant tiny changes, happening before my eyes. It's wonderful to watch.
The difference with a child, of course, is that there is no end product I'm aiming for. In fact, the product is already there - he's as much of a person as I am, or you are; I helped to make him, but he is not mine. Parenthood is a collaborative effort. And in a way, there is no "point". But there's a shape - an intricate, unique, unpredictable shape, and one that I hope to be exploring for the rest of my life.
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Date: 2005-09-29 09:41 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-09-29 11:48 am (UTC)