The humility of parenthood

You know it's true. No matter what accomplishments we reach in life, our kids will find a way to bring us back down to earth. We saw it this weekend when Trevor Immelman won The Masters. His child did not care that Daddy was busy filling out his scorecard. He wanted Daddy. NOW. NOW! NOW!!! When it's not your kid, you let out a sort of delirious chuckle, feeling Mommy's pain as she tries to manage the situation with as much aplomb and sophistication as possible while an international feed is capturing her child's sudden burst of will. When you're not a parent, you think, "I will never let my child get away with that," or "Why is he even there?"

Hubby and I attended a party this weekend with a group of friends with whom we were regulars before parenthood descended upon us. Two of the couples were well into their third trimester of pregnancy, the rest were already lined up for the ice luge.* We stood in close proximity to the preggos, chatting about the weeks ahead of them. The wives, of course, were serene and glowing and everything one would expect from one who is between the barfing stage and the oh-God-I-can't-even-get-up-from-the-sofa-on-my-own stage. And the husbands, as one who has been through it once or twice would expect, were absolutely clueless. Two standout quotes from the Dads-to-be:

1) "Having a baby isn't going to make me miss out on anything."

2) "When my mother-in-law gets here after the baby is born I'm hitting the bars."

I could have just smiled and nodded. But really. Really? I decided to get the laughter over with then, because in a few weeks when I remind them of what they said they'll be laughing (albeit wearily) too.

There's a certain amount of denial involved. For instance, before the arrival of Little Man, Hubby thought that I would be content to let him sleep through the night while I was up three and four times in the darkness to nurse and diaper. Luckily this expectation didn't really set in until a week later when it was time for him to return to work. The illusion collapsed into powder within two nights of him supposedly returning back to his normal schedule, when I walked into the room with a screaming baby in my arms, growling, "Get up!! It's so freaking hot in here,** you have to hold him and change him while I go climb in the freezer!" Now I'm so incredibly lucky. On the off chance that our toddler wakes up in the middle of the night, Hubby is on it before I can even roll over! Oh how I have him trained! {Insert evil cackle here}

I take back the evil cackle, though. Sometimes I'm a little sad about that, because LM has hit the "I only want Daddy and I only want him NOW" phase of toddlerhood (is it just a short phase? someone please fill me in here!). Last night around 11pm we heard this forlorn sobbing on the monitor, with "Da da! Da da! Daaaaaaaa d-d-d-daaaaaah!" peppered in between breaths. I almost started sobbing back! As soon as Hubby went into the room the sobbing stopped. The mornings have also become increasingly difficult because when Hubby heads to work I have to do a complete 10 minute song and dance to get LM to stop crying and asking for Da Da to come back.

These guys are in for it. It will only take a couple of days, and they will be wrapped around those children's little tiny twinkle toes, and I can't wait to hear those quotes edited!

*Yes, you read correctly, and ice luge. I swear there is a perfectly reasonable explanation for a bunch of 30-somethings taking shots off of a block of ice... I just don't have it on me at the moment.

**Gotta love post-partum hot flashes!