I know this isn't news to those out there who are already parents...but it might be news to those who aren't.
Being a parent is tough.
Okay, so almost everyone isn't shocked by that. Lucky for you, this entry doesn't end there.
My sweet, precious, special, smart and funny Anne has had a tough day. She's maturing when she doesn't want to mature and too young when she wants to be older. She's got this whole orthodontia thing that is driving her crazy, and today she got a bunch of bands in her mouth...just when she thought she could coast to the finish. She's a teenager in a two months, which brings all of its own triumphs and nightmares. She is an incredible girl who often struggles with her own identity.
Through all of it, I am her Dad.
I love her immensely. Every true parent has experienced this epiphany, this twinkling moment which happens shortly after birth. You realize in an instant that you never knew your own capacity for love until that child was born. And then, if you have another child, your capacity for love doubles. It's as if, before parenthood, you were huddled in this corner of your heart, taking warmth from the love of your spouse (which is no small thing), and suddenly the cavernous capacity of your own heart was revealed in a flash. You stumble forward into the vastness of this love, dumbfounded and joyous. This new-found reservoir fills you up, driving malice, envy, and spite into the farthest recesses. You look back at the ever-burning fire that you have for your partner and see it kindled and joined with this immense ocean. Basking in its heat, you marvel.
I wish I could say that this feeling lasted, but it rarely does. Humans grow callous towards one another, sometimes hurting each other for no good reason. The best parents all have had to seek forgiveness from their children. We make mistakes, as only humans can.
But there are days.
Days like today, when that child you coddled as an infant is in desperate need of that oceanic love, and the only response you can have is to give. It's not even conscious. Any other motives are set aside, regardless of their disposition. Days like today are all about them. You coddle them again, and love them again. You allow them to say what they have to say, even if it's weird and awkward. You take this moment in time, this blessing from God, and you give it to them. You tuck them in at the end of this day, seeing the love you have for them reflected back to you through their eyes, and you can only hope that you've earned even a tenth of a part of that devotion.
And when they have gone to bed and drifted into half-sleep, you sit down and stare into nothing, seeing nothing, and you hold on to the fact that the moments in this day, like those few other life monuments, will stay fresh in your mind until your time here is done.
Today was a tough one for Anne, but it was a necessary one. For her, and for me.
Today, she was my sweet darling baby, and I was her perfect strong Dad.
