Future Tripping

My friend, Amy, recently passed on some wisdom to me that her own mom gave her and it has really stuck in my mind.  I guess, at the time this came up, I was worrying about something that may or may not happen in the future and she casually told me, "Don't future-trip." 

Huh? At first, I was confused but she explained that her Mom used to say this phrase to encourage her not to worry about the things she couldn't control in the future.  Basically, don't take trips in your mind to a place you haven't been yet and don't know anything about.  The whatifs, maybes, the whatmighthappens of tomorrow have no place in today.  That makes a lot of sense to me so when I start to worry about "tomorrow", I try to stop that unproductive thinking by reminding myself not to future trip.

 

One area I constantly have to caution myself against "future tripping" is with LC.  As much as I want to protect her and raise her to the best of my abilities - or as much as I might hope/pray that she grows up to be a caring, loving, respectful, whole person - I know I'm limited. Try as we might, no one can plan the future and I, personally, still think a lot of parenting is just "damage control". 

 

I guess a little over a month ago now, LC got sick and, at the same time, was cutting several teeth.  To step back from it, I can rationally see how the combination of those two things would make her seriously ill.  Even as an adult, I can't say I'm super polite and enjoyable to be around when I'm sick...but rational thinking and reality are two very different things.  After several long days of LC constantly acting out, whining, crying at the drop of a hat, and nary a smile, etc...I found myself just emotionally exhausted.  Motherhood, I'm finding, isn't necessarily hard because it's physically draining...it's the emotional part that gets you.  It's hard to keep perspective sometimes when you're tapped out emotionally.   

 

That night, after a particularly rough evening with the tiny terrorist (that included LC kicking at me while I tried to change her diaper), I climbed in bed, scooted close to DW and said to him, "I miss my sweet baby...do you ever think she'll be back?" 

 

Of course, he encouraged me, but she's definitely out of sorts.  As he fell asleep, I caught myself wondering if the little behaviors LC had been exhibiting were indications of the future...and I even found myself wondering and worrying about the fact that "if she was capable of acting this difficult at just over a year, what in the world were her teenage years going to be like...and how will I survive them?"  Future-tripping at it's finest. 

 

It was a morning or two later when I heard LC wake up and, instead of the frustrated grumbling and irritated whining that had signalled she was awake the last several mornings, I heard the sound of sweet babbling coming from her room.  My heart lifted when, for the first time in what felt like forever, I walked into LC's room and she smiled and coo'd at me instead of glared and whined.  Praise Jesus! I thought.  I remember telling myself then..."Remember this for 'next time' we have a couple rough days...my sweet baby will come back!"

 

Watching your child grow up is a strange phenomenon...it seems to both drag and fly at the same time.  The tough phases can feel never-ending and the sweet phases seem to fly by.  One minute your baby is laying on the floor like a tiny little lump. The next they are sprinting through your house leaving destruction in their wake that would put the Tasmanian Devil to shame.   One minute the only way they can communicate is to cry and scream, the next moment they're talking to you in sentences.  One minute they're kissing and hugging you, the next they're flapping their arms in anger because you took something away that they couldn't/shouldn't have.  Mix that in and stir it around with emotional and physical fatigue, protectiveness, endless amounts of love, elation at having this insane gift of having this child(ren)...and you've got a semi-crazy but blessed person. 

 

Fast forward several weeks to another late night conversation with DW...one where I pour my heart out to him, telling him that there are days where I just feel horrible about my parenting abilities.  Although I love being a Mom, I find that no matter how much I may love it, it doesn't change the fact there are days where I profoundly suck at it.  I confessed to him that I had had a recent ephiphany that I was parenting LC, in some ways, out of fear...fear of what she might be like one day instead of parenting in the moment.  I was parenting against what, in my mind, I didn't want her to be "one day"...versus enjoying, loving, and accepting her for who she is today.   

 

Take another step forward in time and here we are in the present day...smack in the middle of molars and another round of sickness.  The tiny terrorist has returned.  A day or two of ill behavior and I was already feeling out of sorts, wondering if these behaviors were just a "phase" or if they were demonstrations of a personality type.  Soon after, I discovered the molars and sighed in relief: phase.

 

Last night, though, LC's attitude was at fever pitch and I was just at my wit's end with the whining.  A bit of whining I can handle...whining from sun up to sun down without ceasing is tough, I don't care who you are.  After dinner, I got down on the floor with her, thinking that maybe some on-her-level, face-to-face time would help. I sat down and when she got close to me, I took her two hands in my own to play a game she typically loves...

"If you're happy and you know it, clap your hands..." I begin to sing as I clap her hands together.  But, this time, instead of smiling and letting me clap her hands, she pulls as hard as she can to get her hands away from mine and resisted the clap motion the way two polarized magnets resist one another.  She looks me in the eyes and glares, yanking her hands again...but I didn't let go immediately.  I mean, if I did for one thing, she would fly backward and crack her head open.  For two, just no. 

I paused, made purposeful eye contact, and waited until she was looking at me in the eyes.  Then I let go and, as soon as her hands were free, she smacked toward my face in frustration.  "NO, ma'am..." I say, catching her hand mid-fly.  Even though she doesn't understand yet, I finish, "You don't jerk away, you need to say, 'Let go, please.  And you do not hit at people.  Ok?'" 

 

Clearly, I do not expect her to know what I meant by the second part of the sentence but I try to talk to her as if we can have conversation.  One day, we will be having conversations so I figure I might as well start early.  Plus, I know it probably sounds biased (which means it probably is) but the kid is so high-processing and highly expressive.  It's surprising what she already does understand.

Later, DW and I are discussing our days and LC, of course, comes up.  I mentioned the "happy (or not happy) and you know it" incident and said, "That pretty much sums up my day." and then add, future-tripping again, "I don't want her to be that kid that hits people!" 

 

DW listens (one of his best qualities) and then grins before offering the perspective I so often appreciate that he brings to our marriage.  Sometimes I hate it, though.  ;-) 

 

"Ok, Bud," he says, laughing, "you're strong willed like LC.  So just imagine if you were sick and someone walked up to you, grabbed your hands, and started clapping them together and singing, If you're happy and you know it, clap your hands..."  At this point, his voice trails off and he raises his eyebrows just slightly, pausing a minute to let the implication sink in. 

 

I laughed and immediately confessed: "I'd want to punch them in the face..."

 

Exactly.  he says, still laughing in agreement.  You would.   

 

Mmmm hmmmmm....which is exactly what LC did.  I say. 

 

We laugh together at our strong willed child and discuss for a minute how important it is to stop and see the world through her eyes and not just our eyes when we are parenting her. It's so hard, in the moment, to slow down and flip the perspective and ask ourselves, "How is she seeing what is happening?" But its something I want to do more of and something I am now recognizing is infinitely valuable.

 

Slow down.  See the world through her eyes.  Don't wish moments of her life away, even the tough ones.  These are the lessons I'm learning today.  Tomorrow, in that future I'm not thinking about right now, there will be other lessons to learn.  New struggles...but also new joys. 

For now, however, I am find myself blessed with today and I will do my best to live fully present in it instead of taking those imaginary trips to the future.