I have to assume they base this on observing nature. Look at God’s creation, who know exactly what to do to care for their young! Surely man, who was made in God’s own image, is even better equipped to rear their offspring!
This only works of course if you don't look too close. Black bear mothers, for instance, are lauded as one of most protective and nurturing, but will often deem single births as not worth the time investment and will push singlets outside the cave before going to sleep and trust the situation to resolve itself. Pandas will choose the most promising offspring and ignore the other completely, devoting all her time and energy into her favorite.
There are many species that treat their young callously, making you wonder how their kind has managed to survive at all. It is no surprise then that the extent to which humans are inherently nurturing extends precisely to not eating our babies when they are born and not much further.
I have mentioned before that I myself was not born maternal.
My mother likes to recount the story of a Christmas when I was small that I received a babydoll. This was a special babydoll that made crying noises, just like a real baby! I named him Christopher, and before all the wrapping paper had been picked up from the floor, I had stuffed the squalling nuisance in a drawer and left the room.
If you had asked me when I was younger if I wanted children, it would have stumped me. Honestly, I never thought about it. I liked names--Stephen and Varian for boys, Scarlett and Charlotte for girls. Names were pretty and interesting, things I enjoyed studying. Children were scary and unpredictable and more than a little gross. I went out of my way to avoid interaction.
Cousins tempered me a little. Jacob was close to me in age so he was more of a peer, but the rest were considerably (nine or more years) younger. Jessica it took me the longest to warm up to. Justin was always wanting to do stuff and be outside and move. I didn't see Sean very often, but he was sweet and didn't bother me excessively.
Tyler, who Benjamin reminds me a lot of, was probably the one I...it sounds harsh to say “tolerated”, but it is somewhat apt. I loved all of them, but Tyler was the easiest to spend time with for a while. He would get a stack of books and sit in my lap and twirl my hair while I read to him. This was the kind of kid I could handle.
When Emerald came along, it was like handing me a rubix cube with a bomb inside.
I never baby talked to her. It was matter-of-fact speech. “Hello, infant. I am your mother.”
Had she known better, I'm sure she would have been terrified.
She didn't though, and so we set on the path of learning together. Nursery rhymes were not in my wheelhouse, so she was lulled to sleep by Mom crooning Matchbox Twenty and Queen. Growing up Church of Christ was a boon because I had a positively endless trove of worship songs memorized.
One particular afternoon, I sang “Down to the River to Pray” (from the “O Brother Where Art Thou” soundtrack) for an impressive four hours, inviting every familial name I could invoke to “let’s go down, come on down”. It kept her from crying at least until Michael got home.
We didn't play games like peek-a-boo or hide-and-seek. I explained to her what I was doing, showed her how things worked. I shared facts with her about everything--things we saw on walks, the nutritional value of food we were eating (if any), the science or history behind everyday items.
Eventually we amassed a collection of children's books, but before then, I read aloud to her whatever I was reading, be it scripture, textbooks, or classical literature.
And let's just say, people like me are the reason there are instructions on the side of the diaper box.
She and I didn't know what to expect from each other, so we learned with and from one another.
As a child, I spent a lot of time around animal babies. Mostly cats, my Sassi having a litter of darling kittens what seemed like every few months, but also chicks and ducklings, little bunnies and puppies and goats. All those that were born at our house knew right away had to find their mom for food, even with their little eyes and ears still shut.
Why then was breastfeeding so inexplicably, intricately difficult? With each new kid, it was like riding a bike. Except the bike is on fire, you’re on fire, everything is on fire and you’re in hell.
A lot has changed in the decade since Emerald was born. She taught me a great deal, the least of which is every subsequent kid is a totally new creature. You'll feel as inept and out of your element trying to figure out each new little person.
I remember bringing Gabriel home, thinking I was officially old hat at this newborn thing, when he ended up peeing all over my living room wall during a diaper change. (Gotta watch those boys; I know this now.)
It serves us well to start parenthood out as a blank slate, I think. Excessive programming would have made it that much harder to acclimate to the unusual circumstances each of us face in our unique children. It helps us stay innovative, trying new and different things in an attempt to nurture these lives we have been entrusted with in better ways.
If you had told a fifteen year old me that I would turn into mush over a baby, I would have thought you were crazy. But Tula here transforms me into a pile of mashed potatoes, she's so cute. I have a virtual arsenal of nursery rhymes and lullabies (though I still sing my fair share of Queen), and a closet chock full of picture books to share with her.
And would you know it, I coo and baby talk with the best of them.
There's still so much more to learn, though. This is the first baby I've had that was mama’s--she cries if I'm not holding her constantly. Even Michael has trouble getting her happy sometimes.
And would the powers that be just decide what is safe and just leave it at that? I just read an article the other day on why you definitely should not use Dreft laundry soap for your infant. I didn't even know babies needed different laundry soap until two kids ago!
Like any vocation you dedicate yourself to, you are going to get better. I have spent the last ten years perfecting my craft at a rate of nearly 24 hours a day.
People often ask how I do it--how I know what Gaby is thinking or what he needs, how I wrangle one kid while nursing another while making a plate and calculating carbs and taking a phone call and baking an award winning pie (yeah, right. Like we get pie).
Hey, I guess I was just born for it.
Yup. This is good.
--Andie
