Are Parents Another Species?

When I was pregnant with Emma, I read everything I could find about parenthood, particularly new parenthood.  I hadn't spent much time around babies and I couldn't even begin to imagine what my life would be like with child.

In one book, a sociologist described an exercise she does with her students.  She asks the class, "Does parenthood make you a different person?"  The "yes" students sit on one side of the room; the "no" students another.  What she usually finds is that people who are not parents say no, parenthood doesn't make you a different person.  People who are parents say yes, it does, and furthermore, if you aren't a parent, there's no way you can understand the difference. 

I'm the same person I always was.  But some things have definitely changed, and I think the changes are permanent:

* I am more likely to enjoy seeing other people's baby pictures.  Before, I never knew what to say besides, "Look at that baby."  Now I can spurt syrupy comments with the best of them, "Aww, those EARS! And does anyone else in the family have that great hair?" etc.

* I can no longer watch local news.  Stories in which babies and/or moms suffer are just *intolerable* to me--I can't get them out of my head and I feel *really awful* about them.  So I can't watch local news because it is almost all about terrible things that happen to kids. 

I saw a story years ago about a little girl who was snatched from her grandma's front yard (kidnapper asked for help finding his puppy), and I swear, hardly a day goes by that I don't think of that poor child, particularly as my daughter approaches the same age.  Last week, there was a local tragedy involving an inattentive college student in an SUV and two little girls the same age as my girls, and I think about those poor girls every day.  It's worse when the children are the same age as mine, but it's intolerable even when they aren't.

Even *fictional* child tragedies are too much for me.

If anyone had told me before my children were born that I didn't care as much about child tragedies as I would care after becoming a parent, I would have been terribly offended.  But now . . . I just can't express how much more horrible these stories seem.

So as I was saying to David today, while some parents apparently obsess about what their children should be when they grow up, I just hope they grow up.  David said, "Grow up and be happy, right?" and I agree, happiness would be good--but mostly, I'll settle for aliveness.  The world seems so dangerous now; it's a miracle any of us survives.

* On a more positive note, having children means you have an unlimited store of happy memories (which balances out the free-floating terror I just described above). 

Our latest: yesterday, I took the girls to have lunch with a friend and her dog (bijon frise?)  Amelia walked over to the dog, which started sniffing her, and I told her, "He's just saying 'hello.'"  She responded, "Hello," and waved at the dog.

Later, when the dog wagged its tail, I explained that meant he was happy, and asked her if she could wag her tail.  Well!  She loved wagging her tail and proceeded to holler, "WAG!" while she wobbled her bottom up and down. 

Then her sister got into the act.  "No, Amelia, your tail wags like this," demonstrating a side-to-side waggle. 

"WAAAAG!!!"  Amelia insisted, wagging her tail up-and-down some more.

Later, Emma explained to me, "We really don't have a tail. We were wagging our butt."  Then she giggled.

What could be more fun than wagging your tail on a Saturday afternoon?  Every time I think of this, I smile.