Saturday, May 30, 2009

Coming to terms with it all.

I recently made the statement to a coworker that being a parent is both the most gratifying and most terrifying thing I've ever done. It really is. I find myself "swole up" with pride when I'm with my son out in the public world. I often catch myself looking at folks who are looking at my son and getting a sick sense of satisfaction out of how obviously stricken they are with him. He's a cute kid with an amazing outgoing personality. He says "hi" to everyone....EVERY....ONE. A lot of times the person he's directing his greeting at is so taken aback by the friendliness and outgoingness of this little person, that they don't respond (I tell myself that, but really, lots of people are just too big of an asshole to wave and say hi to a little kid who is trying to learn the world and doesn't know that people want to keep to themselves and be miserable.), but sometimes they wave back, say hi, and engage him in the trite little conversation he has with those who will speak to him. "Hi. My name is Miles and I'm three years old." Then they ask more questions and he has a look on his face that says "Um, I was told there would be no math." and he kind of shuts down. But if he is in a pinch, he'll pull out his ace in the hole phrase that leaves them rolling in the aisles: "Smelly-belly-butt." Don't know where he got it, don't know why he keeps that as his "A" material, but that's his go-to. I love it. Proper amount of cuteness mixed with the word "butt" that makes strangers physically uncomfortable because there is no set response. That's my boy.
Then there are the moments in the dark just before sleep when I go to the terrifying place. For some reason, as soon as you become a parent, you automatically delete every stupid thing you ever did from memory. I don't mean you pretend you weren't an idiot who took dumb risks and probably should have died several times over, but you "forget" you did them while you conjure horrific scenarios where your child does not survive. It's awful. I really am not scared of Miles getting hurt. Hell, I hope he gets hurt enough to decide not to try some of the things I did and maybe he won't need a new hip and knee when he's 37 years old like his old man. I'll be just fine with it if he decides he'd like to cook, paint, act(although that isn't entirely safe), write, play music, teach, eat, whatever. (Yes, watching my son play sports is something I hope to do, but I'm not hanging my life on it. If he likes to do it, then I'll support the ever-loving shit out of him, but if he's not into it, I have a television that shows sports on it, so I'll be just fine.)
ANYWAY, my point is that I've had the nightmares already and he hasn't even been in any really risky situations yet. Phew! I can't wait until he's old enough to go out with friends or be...(shudder) ...driving! I'm pretty sure that mom and dad won't be jetting off to bed while teenage Miles is out cavorting with his buddies. I'm also pretty sure that if the technology exists ten years from now, I will implant a tracer into his body while he's peacefully sleeping and watch his every move on my computer.
I am so excited to see what kind of person Miles evolves into. I am so excited to go on this journey with him. I can see my own father monitoring my own journey still and I want that. I want to see my son make progress and learn and fall down and get himself back up. I'll be there for him every step of the way. I am also terrified that if something were to happen to him, I would be done. Done. Really, just done. It is not hard to imagine my body just shutting down and being done from the hurt. Why do I go there? I have no idea. I am not that person with anyone else in my life. Things happen. I've experienced severe loss and lived. Life goes on. I'm not saying the other people in my life aren't important enough to merit such prophesizing of doom, but I just don't go there with adults. But my son...I'm scared. I hate thinking about it and I get there anyway sometimes. I can always talk myself out of it, but not until I've gotten myself all jacked up first.
I'm pretty sure that this is going to last me the rest of my life. Only for a milisecond do I ever wish that wasn't true. Otherwise, the rewards of having that little light in the universe as part of my life/legacy are WAY WAY WAY WAY better than any unpleasantness that strikes me when the lights go out.