By Jordan
“You’ve got a fear problem.” It’s a running joke between Gretchen and I. I’m only half kidding; she’s only half laughing. I want to ski down the black diamond. She wants to ski down the bunny hill. I want to leave the window open at night. She wants it closed so no one can come in and “get us.” I want her to stop gasping every time a car hits the brakes anywhere within a one-mile radius. She wants me to cross the street faster. I want her to try surfing with me. She wants a guarantee that there are no sharks left in the ocean. I want us to have more adventures. She wants me to “be more careful” all the time about everything.
And the list goes on and on...
"Our toddler wants to pick up a toy train.
He can't. He's in a gerbil ball. Dang."
And we’re about to have a child. And the list is about to get a lot longer. Aahhhhhhhh!
A little part of me starts to panic when I think about what our lives are going to look like when we have a little one running around. I have these visions of our little boy or girl running around the house in a giant-sized gerbil ball bumping into corners and furniture, all of which is covered in Styrofoam or industrial-strength padding. Our toddler wants to pick up a toy train. He can't. He's in a gerbil ball. Dang.
I’m being a little dramatic, but not much. Here’s how my sister-in-law Kellee put it yesterday: “You think she’s crazy now. Just wait until the baby.”
I got a taste test a few weeks ago when we babysat my coworker Derek’s 6-month-old. When I was holding the baby, Gretchen was on me like a hawk. “Did you test the bottle? Is it too hot? No, you can’t test it there. You have to test it like this. What was that sound? Did you drop her? Oh my God you dropped her! You didn’t drop her? Are you sure? I think you dropped her. Don’t let her chew on that.”
And it doesn’t help that every time we see my parents now my mom tells some story about my misadventures as a babysitter (I was 15 when my youngest sister was born). My mom: “Jordan used to leave his candy wrappers all over the house when Danielle was just a baby. She was always picking them up and swallowing them. I had to do the Heimlich once. And then this other time we came home and we found Danielle, in nothing but her diapers, asleep in the hallway in a puddle of her own tears while Jordan was sitting in the TV room watching sports.”
And then here’s Gretchen when we get in the car to drive home: “You are my worst nightmare.”
Thanks mom. I was 15! I’m 29 now. I’m almost twice as responsible now.
So basically now I’m panicking and Gretchen’s panicking. We’re just revolving around the same issue on opposite sides. (I’m America and she’s China.) But I guess that is what is supposed to happen when you have your first kid. Everyone just panics and screws things up until the grandparents come around to pick up the pieces.
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This kid and ours will have something
in common. |
The funny thing is, one of the reasons I love Gretchen so much is because she has this deep, protective loving and mothering side. She is going to make a wonderful mom. And I’m pretty sure one of the reasons she loves me is my boyish lack of concern for life and limb. My son/daughter and I are going to have a lot of fun together.
I have to believe this situation is just how God designed it. I think Gretchen and I both tend toward opposite extremes when it comes fear. And, in our own ways, we probably both have unhealthy relationships with fear. But when we’re together, there’s more balance.
In the years that follow this baby, there will be some broken bones. There will be some unnecessary safety steps and social ostracizing (think the little kid from “A Christmas Story” the first time it snows). There will be many arguments. Most all of which I will lose. And, hopefully, somewhere around our child’s teenage years, we’ll have on our hands a completely normalized kid -- aware of the dangers that lurk around some corners, and the adventures that await around others.
