Kabobs & Apple Pie

I was talking to my mom this weekend and like every other conversation I’ve had with my mother she went on at some length about the fact that I was a colicky baby and did nothing but cry for the first 6 months of my life.  I am not exaggerating when I say “every other conversation.” Seriously. Ever. Single. Conversation. This is especially true now that I am also a mother.

Somehow, I think my mother thinks I can sympathize with her now. In a way I can. After all, these past few days the existing agony of teething has been compounded by the cold that Azita has been suffering through. Like most of the colds she’s caught in her short life this one has come with a hoarse, rattling cough and a touch of wheezing. Our nights have been sleepless, and the daytime hours we spend with her are marked with plenty of crying and fussing and demands to be held constantly.  It’s not the most pleasant moment in the annals of our parenting history to say the least.

But don’t get me wrong. I do not mind this. In fact, I almost like it.

I may have mentioned this before, but when Azita was first born Roger and I spent many weeknights walking the warm hallways of one of our local malls. We desperately needed to get out of the house, but we couldn’t walk outside in sub-zero temperatures with a newborn. So, off to the mall we went. Mostly we window-shopped and talked, but occasionally we stopped in a store that captured our interest. One of these nights we stumbled upon the nicest salesman while we were admiring an armoire at his store. He was a father of 5 children, ranging from 7  to 25 years of age, and he reminisced so fondly of the days when they were babies like our little one. And, he shared the best piece of wisdom ever shared with me by another parent (especially a random one I had just met). He told me to savor every moment of that time with her.

It is true that others have told me this, but it was what he said afterwards that really rang true for me. “Even when I was up all night with my children, I felt like that was my special time with them. Time I wouldn’t have otherwise.” He is so right.

Being a parent is hard. Everyone knows this whether they are a parent or not. Maybe we don’t realize just how hard it is until we become one ourselves. But we have to remember we signed up for the task. Yes, there are times when I want to complain about Azita. She can be the biggest pain in the ass. I won’t lie. But, she is also the best thing to happen to me and my favorite person in the entire world. No matter what, the good she brings into my life outweighs any of the annoyances that come with it.

Maybe my mother doesn’t feel the same way about me. I don’t know, and I really don’t feel like asking her. Some things are best left unknown. But when I hear my mother complain, 36 years after the fact, of how incessant my crying was or of how I gave her permanent back pains because I wanted to be held so much or of any of the many other annoying things I’m sure I, like every other person, did when I was a baby, I get just the shot in the arm I need. 30 years from now, I want to remember all the wonderful things about this time. Just like the fellow I met at the mall, I want to feel nostalgic and happy about this part of my life. To get that, I need the right attitude now.

I’m convinced that our view of the past is always informed by how we viewed it when it was the present. If I focus on the negative aspects of my life right now, that will be what I remember in my old age. And I don’t want that. I want to live in a haze of rose-colored history when I’m ripened and wizened, and the good thing is, it’s completely within my power right now to make that happen.

P.S. I am once again participating in NaBloPoMo , so expect to read a lot more from me in the coming weeks.