The Parenthood Conspiracy

Since becoming a daddy, I can't even put into words how lucky and blessed I feel...parenthood is truly a miracle.

With that being said, I recently (and most inadvertently, I might add) stumbled upon a secret truth that I am sure they don't want me to discuss. And so, at great risk to myself, I have decided to share this secret with you, if for no other reason than to stick it to the man.

On Saturday evening, our son's two new teeth were acting particularly aggressive in their quest to escape his gums. It was clear our son was uncomfortable, and as a result, he did everything he could to let us know of his discomfort and annoyance. While a nice cool washcloth seemed to sooth his mouth, it was clear that he had had enough with it all, and he wasn't going to cooperate with anyone.

After my foolish attempts to carry him around/lay him down/feed him/play with him in his baby gym/promise him a pony/trip to Disneyland/car if he would just stop crying and calm down, I slumped myself down on the couch with my squirmy, fussy son in my lap. And then I saw it. Across the room, there it was. And right at that very moment, angelic voices began to sing and a light shone down from above, bathing my salvation in beautiful, soft light.

After yelling at my brother to turn down his Jars of Clay CD, and after my mother shut off the upstairs hallway light, it hit me. I had left my tea water in the microwave. So, with fussy, squirmy, un-consolable baby in arms, I stood up and started walking to the kitchen to retrieve my water. On my way to the next room, my bichon puppies had decided it was play time, and they began to chase each other all over the house. As I turned to check out the noise (and yell at them to quiet down...after all, my son was making enough noise for them all at the moment), my large toe connected with the foot of the baby swing...and the baby swing stood its ground.

I couldn't help it. It was a natural reaction. The string of expletives was there, and there was nothing I could do to stop it. But my son - my infant son - was right there, in my arms, his little, precious ears just inches from my mouth. And so I made a decision. I closed my mouth just before the words could hit my lips, so that what escaped was the equivalent to the sound I imagine a cow would make as it is being tipped in the middle of the night by some rowdy hooligan teenagers with nothing better to do than to tip over unsuspecting livestock in the middle of a pasture.

So while I am dancing up and down on one foot, clutching my son tightly while sounding like a seriously pissed-off, close-lipped cow on its way to the ground, I hear it. Above the noise of the yapping dogs, above the recently "turned-down" Jars of Clay background music, and above my own disturbingly nauseating cow-noise, my son uttered a brief coo. A coo of joy. A coo that screamed, "hey, dad, that was funny". And he had calmed down.

But now I was in trouble. How was I going to keep him calm? My eyes darted around the room again, in a vain attempt to find the magic answer that would keep my son coo-ing in calmness. My mind feebly jumped from promise to promise, hoping it would stumble across the item my 4-month would accept as an offering (let's be honest...not an offering so much as a bribe) for a few moments of peace. In my desperation, I glanced at the object that had caused me such physical pain - the bane of my existence for that moment in time....the bully itself - that stupid swing.

Well, maybe I should have been hit in the head by the swing, because when I was looking at it again, my brother once more turned his music up and my mom once again turned on the light upstairs, casting a soft glow on the swing in front of me. I quickly strapped my son in, set the speed, and stood back, waiting nervously and watching for his reaction...

Silence. Back and forth he swung. And still I was able to relish the peace that had been granted me by my assailant. After limping into the kitchen to fetch my luke-warm tea, I had no sooner slumped into my over-stuffed chair than the inevitable occurred. The swing began to slow, its movements labored and dying. As the batteries relinquished the very last of their charge, my son began to jerk around, and it was only a matter of time before his wail of irritation pierced the brief, yet utterly beautiful silence.

Later that night, after my husband had fed our son and prepared him for bed, I gave my son a kiss goodnight, laid him in his bassinet, and turned on his aquarium toy that hangs at his reach. No sooner had I myself climbed into bed and found my most comfortable spot, then I heard it. Rock-a-Bye-Baby was the tune, but something was different...something was wrong.

The tempo was much too slow. It sounded as if the tune was being pulled through molasses...and as I listened to the slow, garbled tune that was once peaceful and calming, I realized the conspiracy in parenting. As the batteries on the aquarium faded, I knew then I was trapped, forever linked to Duracell and Energizer....It was then I made a commitment to my survival as a parent...If I was going to cling to my last thread of sanity, I would forever have on-hand an arsenal of fully-charged batteries.

In telling you this, I had hoped to stick it to the man. And yet, I know that when I go home tonight, and we are saying our prayers before bed, thanking God for our son and our family, I am also going to give thanks for that copper-top and that stupid Energizer bunny, for without them, I fear any chance at peace might forever be lost.

His2Dads