Thoughts on a Child
Erin Douglass
BirthdayFebruary 2007
Roxy is two weeks away from her 1st birthday.
One year old! Or, as the labels in her onesies and ribboned jeans say, 12 months. My smiling, vibrant, curious child has been on the planet for a complete rotation around the sun.
One year ago, my days revolved around reading, thinking, writing, waiting, all while propped on the couch. Sure there were the weekly visits to our midwives in Ventura. Slow neighborhood walks with my husband. Talks with friends and family eager for news. But mostly I focused within, gathering strength, fending off doubt, reminding myself that I was about to travel down a well-blazed, love-directed trail.
Now my life is a collage of activity, faces, sounds and decisions. Roxy bookends the day with her joyful waking and splashing baths, babytalk and bowlegged steps. In the many hours in between, my life continues much as it did before: I write, attend meetings, run errands, go to the Y. But always in the back of my mind there is the hum of this child. A simple question, "How's the baby?" brings her to the forefront in a flash.
Who am I as a parent? More child-like — and yet more serious, too, perhaps. More alert for her and my well-being. Less tolerant of negativity or a foul mood. I am also more trusting in the Mind that governs the universe. I have to be! How else could I hand this child to the women — generous, loving and enthusiastic as they may be — at her daycare?
"I can't believe you let other people hold your baby!" I heard time and again during the first few months of her life. It wasn't as if these individuals were strangers. And even if they were, so what? What do we teach our children if all unknowns are threats until proven otherwise? I hope to teach Roxy a healthy balance between embracing — and carefully assessing — the world.
Here's what I see when I look at Roxy. A two-foot tall person. Barely there hair. Round, insistent cheeks. Eyes big as quarters. A proud, milk-fed belly. A smile that reveals two tiny lower teeth and four toppers. Soft feet that have yet to touch the earth without a sock or shoe.
Here's what I see when I look at myself: A woman who's let her long-dyed dark hair go natural: a piece-y silver. A body with unfamiliar curves. Boobs that hang alarmingly low compared to a year ago. Eyes that smile and sparkle, but also look tired. Muscled arms.