The Other Ballgame

Looking like a proud little gnome

There are probably some things about parenthood that you can expect: the sleepless nights; the gobs of excretions; the triumph you feel at your child's victories; the way you can't stop grinning at your baby's smiles and belly laughs.  But nobody prepares you for the ridiculous waves and waves of empathy.

Well, I take that back.  I guess in some ways, a mom is prepared for being attuned to how her baby feels because she can actually feel the kid inside of her -- the elbows and knees, the nudges and kicks.  But when this baby is finally a separate entity, and has a personality and feelings of his own, and needs that he articulates in specific ways -- sometimes adorable, sometimes frustrating and sometimes heartbreaking -- that's a whole 'nother ballgame.

Crankiness doesn't quite count.  Yes, Milo's crankiness when he won't take naps absolutely makes me cranky.  But it's when the cries seem to mean something, when they seem like more than just "I'm hungry" or "I'm tired" and they have this (at least perceived) note of anguish in them that I feel like crying for him; okay, every once in a while when that happens, I get something in my eye.  Like an eyelash or a piece of volcanic ash.  I knew I would hurt for him, but I couldn't have known what that would feel like.  It feels rough.

And I just have to be consoled by the thought that I will also take empathic pleasure in his happiness, in the things that bring him joy.  His big old grins already have that effect on me.  When he cries, I am sad, but when he laughs, thank goodness, I laugh, too.