Guinea Pig Kid
Twenty-nine years ago this week I gave birth to my oldest daughter, Kate. As far as birthing experiences go, it was fairly routine. One day there was just me and the next day there were two of us. There are thousands of books about parenting, but none of them can adequately prepare you for the actually fact of parenting, the doing it. I was surprised to learn that the baby didn't come with an owner's manual, tech support, or even one of those diagrams that comes with the cheap Chinese furniture that you buy at Walmart. You know, the kits with the little tools that resemble Allen wrenches?
Toasters come with owner's manuals, shouldn't one be issued for something as important as a baby? New mother's need a quick look-up book. For example, within a few days of her birth, my baby turned yellow. A nurse told me to put her in a sunny window as if she was a hothouse plant. Where do you find that information? That could go into an owner's manual for sure - maybe on page one or two, in the safety section.
Toasters come with owner's manuals, shouldn't one be issued for something as important as a baby? New mother's need a quick look-up book. For example, within a few days of her birth, my baby turned yellow. A nurse told me to put her in a sunny window as if she was a hothouse plant. Where do you find that information? That could go into an owner's manual for sure - maybe on page one or two, in the safety section.
While my doctor didn't proclaim, "Congratulations, you've given birth to a healthy guinea pig," that's exactly what I had done. You may not have noticed but there are no Baby Raising Licensing classes. No one is going to give you a training baby to practice on, there's no test or exam. Yeah, yeah, there are parenting classes, but no parenting class ever prepared anyone to raise a child from infancy to adulthood.
So by default the oldest child becomes the guinea pig, the experimental child. Lord knows how this girl will ever forgive me. A million questions come to mind. Did she like the outfits I dressed her in when she was a baby? She couldn't tell me-maybe she thought they made her look fat.
The bowl cut she wore as a toddler-that was wrong. I admit it. It's no wonder she now spends an outlandish amount of time on her do. I traumatized her with her early cuts.`
When she was small, I could usually tell if she liked what I fed her. When she didn't she'd grab the spoon as it was on its way to her mouth and sniff what was in it before she'd eat it. She learned quickly. Sometimes the pureed plums turned into strained peas if she didn't keep an eye on which jar that spoon was last in.
A big decision came early on. Should I go back to work? Before she was born, it never occurred to me I wouldn't. Immediately after she was born I would have preferred to cut out my own heart than to leave this little creature I was so in love with. Back and forth I went with that fateful decision. By the end of ninety days I was ready for conversation with someone who wasn't three months old. I still had my reservations about going back and sending my child to the dreaded daycare. But then I had an astounding revelation - if it didn't work out, I could quit. But I wondered for quite a few years, was that the right decision?
I probably shouldn't have worried. As I watched my little girl develop socially, and then academically as she was reading by the time she was five and doing simple math. She was the beneficiary of spending time with children her own age and teachers who were far more patient than I. The only down side of daycare that I can remember was that she was sick a lot the first couple of years, and she grew to believe adults were there to entertain her. For that I kept telling her, you have a sister.
The summer day camp I sent her to in fourth grade; she hated it, and I made her go. If push came to shove I probably didn't have to work that week, but for some reason I believed I did.
There was time she was three and being a holy terror in the back seat of the car. At one point I lost my temper and told her if she didn't quit her wailing I'd put her out by the side of the road. The minute that statement left my lips I would have done anything to grab it back and swallow it down, I was sure I had scarred her for life. Years later I told her what I said and how much I regretted it.
"Huh?" She shrugged. "Can't say I remember it." Whew! dodged a bullet with that one.
There were the times I embarrassed her beyond all measure. The day I got out of the car to fetch her the summer between 8th grade and freshman year of high school during summer gym was an unpardonable sin. Having your mother come get you, rather than allowing you to slowly disengage from the boys you are trying to impress, is just not done. I did it. I also talked to loudly in public, specifically at the mall, requiring her to walk ten paces ahead of me disavowing all association if I was on my phone. (Though she found me quickly enough if she needed the credit card.) I also made her ride in the back seat, trading off the front bucket seat with her sister when she was in middle school. I am pretty sure the shame of those moments will never be undone.
We have spent a lot of time together that girl and I. Enough time that every now and again I hear her yell, "Mom! Get out of my head," as she she says or does something she has seen or heard me say or do. You can't escape your mother. That's the truth.
As far as real guinea pigs go, we had some. The first was Gunner, a fat red and white pig that was Kate's prized first pet. Next was Rocky, and finally Piggy whose demise I probably accelerated by giving him too many dandelion greens. I was surprised by what a great pet those pigs were-even Rocky, the one that bit. I didn't think rodents could be so personable. Did you know they purr when you snuggle with them? I suppose ours were lucky as guinea pigs go. Had they been born in Peru, they would have been dinner.
And how is my guinea pig kid doing today, at age 29? After all the embarrassment, mistakes, and words I would like to take back? After all the tears, laughter, and moments I wouldn't have missed for anything in the world? What do you think?
Oh look, Graters raspberry chocolate swirl.
So by default the oldest child becomes the guinea pig, the experimental child. Lord knows how this girl will ever forgive me. A million questions come to mind. Did she like the outfits I dressed her in when she was a baby? She couldn't tell me-maybe she thought they made her look fat.
The bowl cut she wore as a toddler-that was wrong. I admit it. It's no wonder she now spends an outlandish amount of time on her do. I traumatized her with her early cuts.`
When she was small, I could usually tell if she liked what I fed her. When she didn't she'd grab the spoon as it was on its way to her mouth and sniff what was in it before she'd eat it. She learned quickly. Sometimes the pureed plums turned into strained peas if she didn't keep an eye on which jar that spoon was last in.
A big decision came early on. Should I go back to work? Before she was born, it never occurred to me I wouldn't. Immediately after she was born I would have preferred to cut out my own heart than to leave this little creature I was so in love with. Back and forth I went with that fateful decision. By the end of ninety days I was ready for conversation with someone who wasn't three months old. I still had my reservations about going back and sending my child to the dreaded daycare. But then I had an astounding revelation - if it didn't work out, I could quit. But I wondered for quite a few years, was that the right decision?
I probably shouldn't have worried. As I watched my little girl develop socially, and then academically as she was reading by the time she was five and doing simple math. She was the beneficiary of spending time with children her own age and teachers who were far more patient than I. The only down side of daycare that I can remember was that she was sick a lot the first couple of years, and she grew to believe adults were there to entertain her. For that I kept telling her, you have a sister.
The summer day camp I sent her to in fourth grade; she hated it, and I made her go. If push came to shove I probably didn't have to work that week, but for some reason I believed I did.
There was time she was three and being a holy terror in the back seat of the car. At one point I lost my temper and told her if she didn't quit her wailing I'd put her out by the side of the road. The minute that statement left my lips I would have done anything to grab it back and swallow it down, I was sure I had scarred her for life. Years later I told her what I said and how much I regretted it.
"Huh?" She shrugged. "Can't say I remember it." Whew! dodged a bullet with that one.
There were the times I embarrassed her beyond all measure. The day I got out of the car to fetch her the summer between 8th grade and freshman year of high school during summer gym was an unpardonable sin. Having your mother come get you, rather than allowing you to slowly disengage from the boys you are trying to impress, is just not done. I did it. I also talked to loudly in public, specifically at the mall, requiring her to walk ten paces ahead of me disavowing all association if I was on my phone. (Though she found me quickly enough if she needed the credit card.) I also made her ride in the back seat, trading off the front bucket seat with her sister when she was in middle school. I am pretty sure the shame of those moments will never be undone.
We have spent a lot of time together that girl and I. Enough time that every now and again I hear her yell, "Mom! Get out of my head," as she she says or does something she has seen or heard me say or do. You can't escape your mother. That's the truth.
As far as real guinea pigs go, we had some. The first was Gunner, a fat red and white pig that was Kate's prized first pet. Next was Rocky, and finally Piggy whose demise I probably accelerated by giving him too many dandelion greens. I was surprised by what a great pet those pigs were-even Rocky, the one that bit. I didn't think rodents could be so personable. Did you know they purr when you snuggle with them? I suppose ours were lucky as guinea pigs go. Had they been born in Peru, they would have been dinner.
And how is my guinea pig kid doing today, at age 29? After all the embarrassment, mistakes, and words I would like to take back? After all the tears, laughter, and moments I wouldn't have missed for anything in the world? What do you think?
Comments
Post a Comment