Parental fun is. . .

[velvetpage]

Having an apparently perfectly happy toddler decide to scream and throw up within five minutes of being put to bed, necessitating a complete change of toddler, bed, and parent. (She waited until the parent went in to comfort her before letting loose.) Also necessitating an immediate quick bath for said child, as a result of unmentionable stuff in her hair which arrived there via her sleeve when I told her to put her hands up to have her shirt removed. The quick bath happened while the parent in the scenario was still in her underwear, having chucked her soiled clothing into the pile of baby linen on its way to the washing machine.

We warmed up by blow-drying her hair. Usually I'd let it air-dry, but there was no way I was waiting half an hour for that to happen when it was already nine thirty.

And with all that, she was still only half an hour late going to bed.

She sang along with the second lullaby, as she had with the first. I love it when she does that.

I have trouble remembering sometimes that I wasn't always a mother, that there was a time in my life when there was no Elizabeth. It seems so incredible to me that I had a hand (and some other parts) in creating this wonderful little girl. And yet I looked at her expression as she was getting her hair dried, and I saw pictures of her father as a child. I looked at the hair and saw myself as a little girl. She's ours, and she's fully herself. I keep thinking I couldn't possibly love her more, and every day proves me wrong.

This started as a rant. Non-parents simply will not understand how a story about baby vomit could turn into a prayer of thankfulness. The parents among you, or some with good imaginations and parental instinct, are all smiling and nodding right now.

God bless our children.

Comments

[velvetpage.livejournal.com]

That's part of it, too, but again, not all of it. I don't think I can explain this. Certainly with all my reading, I've never yet come across a description of parenthood that fit. Language is not meant to convey the deepest emotions of our hearts.

[sythyry.livejournal.com]

Some universal parenthood experiences have left me cranky and argumentative where I can be, so I shall bicker with you.

Language is intended to convey those things as best it can. That's why we have words like "love".

But some things are Mysteries: they cannot be spoken of properly. Not because there's any rule against speaking of them, but because they are too subtle to describe. They must be experienced to be understood. Language certainly can refer to them, with words like "love" and "parenthood", or "spicy" or "water" for that matter, and all initiates will understand. But the non-initiates will not fully understand.

[velvetpage.livejournal.com]

Okay, that was a poorly-constructed sentence. Language is incapable of conveying at least some of the deepest emotions of our hearts. And the initiates point is a good one. *Velvet backs away from linguistic/semantic argument*

Rhys is giving Daddy a hard time today?

[sythyry.livejournal.com]

Incapable of explaining them to someone who doesn't understand the concepts at least... gleep, I'm very the bitchy today.

Rhys is fine, modulo getting us up a bit earlier than I would have liked. Discussions of Rhys' future (and future family plans) kept Vicki and me up 'til very very late, though.