All I Need to Know

This is my baby.

Well, my first baby.

We tried almost a year for him. I was ready to admit to myself that we'd probably need medical assistance to get pregnant. It wouldn't be the first time someone in my family struggled with infertility. I was kind of expecting that we'd have trouble.

But then, suddenly there we were, pregnant for the first time with no medical intervention.

It was a rough pregnancy. I have yet to have a pregnancy that's not rough, as I've mentioned. But underneath all the nausea and the swelling and the hormones, I was bonding with my little one.

We've always opted not to find out the gender of our babies. Though I may have moments of dying to know, overall, I love those months of knowing my baby based on nothing but the maternal bond we share. Yes, there's a little mystery involved when I don't know specifics about that person inside me rolling around, but on the other hand, there's nothing else I need to know other than that it's my baby. My child. It's actually rather precious to me. During those months, I know my baby in a different way than anyone else ever will. And after he arrives, I can start to see connections in the person I'm holding in my arms to the person I held inside me.

There's nothing quite like that first introduction to parenthood. You stumble through those first few weeks, trying to figure out what's going to work. When my firstborn came along, I was convinced I had to go against my laid back nature and demand routine and order from the tiny person in my life. The prevalent theories said not to feed on demand, to make him put himself to sleep, and never, NEVER co-sleep.

It wasn't long before I was exhausted and frustrated. My little one wasn't taking the bait. It really wasn't any better to make him wait to eat when he was just going to scream for an hour. Nor did he "settle" when I tried to make him cry it out, like all the books insisted he would if I was doing it correctly. I'd try to force things, but even as an infant, I could tell he had a stubborn streak. And all the strict schedules and silly rules were chafing at us both.

That's the problem with one size fits all parenting methods. They don't account for differences in personalities, in parents and little ones.

Eventually, I threw away all the "theories" and started from scratch, armed only with Scripture and instincts. And finally I slept. With my baby in the bed. (Gasp!)

I've often referred to my firstborn as my "high maintenance" child. Parenting him has definitely been more stressful (so far) than parenting his brother. The first four years of his life were marked with tantrums, struggles, and dozens of moments of "I have no idea what I'm supposed to do". Lots of worry that I wasn't mothering him right and he'd end up being a narcissistic, whiny adult. He fights change and despises anything that could upset the balance of his world.

But, at the same time, I think he's gotten a bit of a bad rap. Friends and family often joke about him as being a difficult baby and child. Perhaps I've misrepresented him at times. It's true, our personalities do clash, but that doesn't make him a bad child. It just makes him different. He's no more or less sinful than his brother. He just thinks through things in his own way and processes life through a different filter. He isn't less valuable, less loved, or less enjoyed by me.

And he really is becoming a great kid. He's bright and loves to learn. He cracks me up on an hourly basis. He's got a tender heart. He cries at animal rescue shows and moving scenes in cartoons. He loves spending time with other kids, especially his cousins and his best buddy. He asks deeply intellectual questions about God and the Bible and life in general. He has the cutest laugh when he really gets going. He likes to be hugged and loved on. He loves being given jobs and responsibilities. He's kind to his brother and likes to show him how to do new things.

So what if he was a colicky baby? So what if I had to rock him to sleep every night? So what if he was most comfortable curled up in my arms? That stupid guilt trip that says we shouldn't pick up our babies when they're crying or rock them to sleep if we want to is ridiculous. I know I'm not going to get to the end of my life and wish I'd held my babies less. So what if he took a little more work raising than his counterpart?

I love him for who he is. I love him without wishing he was perfect. I love him for challenging me and forcing me to think less of myself and what I want. I love him for stumping me with hard questions and pushing the boundaries of the neat little parenting box I had created. Maybe Thing Two has seemed easier simply because Thing One let me see all the errors I had in my thinking and I was able to change them early on. He has taught me patience, humility, and that the true point of being a mom is not to be right or have my way, but to introduce a little heart to Jesus. I know God gave him certain personality characteristics for a reason. God will use him to glorify himself, somehow, someway. So while I can help him figure out how to tame those characteristics, I'd never want him to stop being who he is.

Because he's my baby. And that's all I need to know.

Love is not love that alters when alteration it finds,

Or bends with the remover to remove.

Oh, no! It is an ever fixed mark

That looks on tempests and is never shaken.

--William Shakespeare