The Joys of Parenting

Two-and-a-half-year-old Rory approaches me as I bustle around the kitchen, and frantically begins signing “milk.” Ah, “milk,” I say, and step over to the refrigerator to retrieve the gallon of milk. In that moment, when he realizes he’s been understood and will soon get the object of his desire, Rory embodies pure joy. He giggles. He claps. He jumps up and down. Over a cup of milk. Or a toy train. Or whatever it is he wants at that time. There is nothing in the world like the feeling of doing something so ordinary — getting a glass of milk — and being thanked with the giggling, clapping gratefulness of a toddler.

After my “me” post, when I complained about the difficulties of integrating the kids with my personal passions, I figured it was time to reflect on the ways in which being a mother is one of my passions.

Right now, seeing Rory learn to communicate, in signs and in words, is endlessly satisfying for me. I see his little personality begin to emerge. I turn on the Jack Johnson Curious George soundtrack to wake him up, and he signs “monkey” — I know he’s made the connection between the music and the movie, even though we haven’t watched the film in months. In the car, we ask him if he’s hungry, and he signs “apple.” Until recently, we got by on context and pointing — if he pointed to an apple, or if I knew he’d seen an apple, and he started whining, I’d know he wanted one. I’d say “apple,” his eyes would light up, and he’d nod. Now, without an apple in sight, Rory can make his mind known. It’s thrilling, frankly. Parents usually experience this when a kid is 12 or 15 months, perhaps, but Rory, at nearly 2 1/2, is capable of much more complex thought. Now, finally, he can express at least some of it, and that window into his consciousness fascinates me.

Callum, meanwhile, is growing increasingly capable of so many things. He can read, and he can spell, and he delights in playing simple math games. “I know what two plus three plus one more is,” he shouts from his car seat. “What is it?” I dutifully ask. “It’s six!” Socially, he can confidently walk into a group of kids he’s never met and suggest, “Let’s play Star Wars. I’m Master Yoda,” negotiating the terms of the play and following through with the fun. At the same time, as much as he’d deny it, he needs a daily nap, he thrives only when he gets plenty of lap time, and he loves to be my baby. I love to watch his adventures, and try desperately to support him in all his needs. It’s an amazing time in his life, and I feel privileged to be witness and participant.

As I’ve  written this, I’ve realized that everything I’ve described so far is about their learning and growing. The joy of parenting is also about experiencing everything through their perspective — about reliving the joy of discovery vicariously through them. It’s about splashing around in a pool, running through a field, or flying a kite — unabashedly playing. Having a kid gives you permission to have more fun yourself.

Yes, it’s challenging. Yes, it makes it more difficult to pursue my own interests. But when I can be truly present and appreciate my children, the joy is matchless.

In recent weeks, Rory has learned to sign multiple-word phrases, and, every once in a while, he points to himself, crosses his arms in front of his chest, and points to me. “I love you,” he’s saying. The feeling is mutual.