Look over here

It strikes me that much of what we do as parents is distraction. "Don't cry! Look over here! Watch this doll move back and forth!" What, exactly, are we distracting them from?

Of course, the simple answer is that a baby cry is the expression of loneliness and confusion and shock and that we are reassuring them that they are not alone, so that the last two won't matter as much. But we don't actually know for sure much of the time. No matter the cause of the cry, our job is to head it off at the pass...don't ask any questions. And nowadays, there are so many tools and info resources out there about how to do so! We have an app on our iphones that makes white noise that has become the absolute magic spell for getting H through car rides. Unlike many babies, he absolutely hates the car most of the time. Especially when we're not moving fast, or are stopping and going. The worst and wildest and sharpest cries we've ever heard from him have been in the back seat of the car. It's driven us to fights, made us turn around from destinations, and stay home when we're invited out. We'd tried everything,  and then one day in Georgia Cati said "Try the white noise app." And boom, 5 minutes later he was asleep. Initially, we were flooded with joy and relief. Wow...there's nothing like that feeling when crying of that stature is averted.

Perhaps it's my melancholy cast, but I find myself mulling this over. I realize children and adults are different than infants, but don't we generally castigate "society" for being obsessed with the latest distraction from our intractable problems? Every time there's a silly new scandal, we soberly intone "This is what we've come to--while our country falls down around our ears, what we really care about is who her boyfriend is?" Or, "Teenagers are so shallow! All they want is the next pleasure, something to play with, and then they're easily bored and move on." Or "We're so consumerist, hiding from existential horror!"

On a deeper/harsher level, you could also see drug/alcohol issues in the same light. Rather than face hard truths or desperate griefs, we often swim through the blissful numbness of intoxicants.

Is this where it starts? Where impatience and fickleness and weakness in the face of terrible choices begins? After the first several months of just getting H from morning to night and back again in sane fashion, I'm starting to wonder more about how our short-term problem-solving will affect him down the line. Not in terrible, neurotic ways, as he's showered with love and healthy surroundings. But on a basic, maybe even animal way. What are his expectations going to be for the world around him? When anguish surfaces, will he know how to work through it?

I think most parents know that the person the baby shriek hurts most is them. Most of what we assume their terror or anger or sadness or fear is, is our own projection for how they must be feeling. But really, it's us that're going through those emotions. When H wakes up and he starts crying, that's how we know it's time to go to him. But what is he actually saying? "I'm alone! Why?" "Why am I not being fed?" "Where am I?" Even if we knew those to be the actual questions his cries are indicating, are those questions that really have answers? Are we lying to him by making it seem like every cry in the dark is answered?

In the end, I guess there are two things that keep me running to his bedside.

Firstly, Cati and I matter. If his cries hurt us, it's not necessarily wrong for us to salve the wound. H will thrive better with parents that aren't torn to pieces.

Secondly, the answer to all of the above questions is love. At least, it's the only answer I've ever known. When I've been awake, alone, staring up into the dark, the only thing that's ever pulled me out of the hole is love. So, in that sense, we are giving him the right lesson. It's really true. The only thing that will ever make you feel better, son, is love. The rest is...distraction.