I used to say that having a baby was the most important and fascinating science experiment I've ever conducted. I loved reading all the books with the pictures that showed you how your fetus was developing, week by week. I remember excitedly announcing to my husband at the time, that our baby had fingernails. I was absolutely and ridiculously thrilled by this new genre of knowledge. After giving birth, or more accurately, after being cut open and having a doctor pull another human being out of my uterus, I loved the books about the first year. Everything was about what your child "should" be doing. When at 9 months Violet wasn't crawling yet, my husband's co-worker told him that it could be a sign of a learning disability when a child never crawls. When he shared this news with me, I rolled my eyes and said, "Well did you tell him your wife never crawled as a baby and that she's the smartest person you know?" He obediently said that he did, infact, say exactly that. Next it was, "What to Expect the Toddler Years." I loved the carefully documented stages. It was frightening when Violet could only say a few words at 20 months old. I immediately had her hearing checked. It was all about how "advanced" your child was in their development. Now, as a parent to a 7-year-old, I don't read books. I'm in that parenting stage where my child is perfect and I know everything. No books required. I realize that she is my daughter, and this means having my blood in her veins will ultimately lead to her having one hell of an attitude. Yeah, I'll cross that bridge when I get there. For now, I'm enjoying a delightful ride on my high horse.
No comments:
Post a Comment