whenever there is a sad face such as this, i catch myself, daily, as i make every silly attempt to turn that frown upside down, including cooing to alexander, making ridiculous faces at him, or massaging his belly to get his poops and gas out, thinking, i am overqualified for this gig. i have a law degree afterall! (forget the fact that i wasn't even using my law degree pre-ADC). and then i feel terribly, sickly guilty for thinking this, because the truth is, i am hardly qualified. it's much easier to worry about whether he has pooped today, how many times he has pooped and peed, and examining the color of his poop, than to really delve into and worry about my qualifications to be a mother. to be his mother.
as you all know or have come to know (hopefully/hopefully not), though i am not certifiably, in need of medication crazy, i am definitely vice mayor of crazy town. it's much scarier to think about all my shortcomings, all my flaws that i will inevitably pass on to my perfect baby. (side note, as one who use to think babies were annoying, needy, dispensers of disgusting bodily fluids, and social-life ruiners, trust me when i say that my baby is perfect. for instance, he has spit up exactly twice in his twelve weeks and two days of life. he has been sleeping through the night and goes down each night without a fight. not to brag or anything, but yes to brag. my baby is perfect). but in all seriousness, or more seriousness, because i was quite serious about my baby being perfect, it's terrifying to think that husband and i, all our imperfections, the obvious ones and the dark hidden ones, will be manifested in one way or another, on this mostly blank slate of a baby.
lately, when alexander gets frustrated, he has begun to exhibit a baby temper in reaction. he raises his left arm and slams it down in frustration. this usually happens when papa is playing with him when he is hungry. alexander is done with play time. he wants it to be eating time, and so he grunts in protestation and begins the aforementioned display of frustration and temper. it's sort of cute now, but having quite the vile temper myself, i can honestly say, this kind of temper, manifested out of frustration, looks, quite frankly, psychotic in an adult. and as much as i like to say, "oh he gets that from daddy," i am not fooling anyone - least of all myself.
so i return to my original point, it's much easier to worry about whether or not he is getting enough tummy time, and therefore whether or not he will ever have the strength to hold up his neck for a sustained period of time (and thus think, i am wasting my education!) than it is to come to grips with the truth: husband and i are grossly under-qualified to be parents. even though failure is not an option on project alexander, failure is most certainly around the corner. i know, when we meet failure face to face, i'm sure any day now, it will look eerily familiar, and, as if on cue, husband and i will turn, face each other and point - "he gets that from you!" we'll say in unison. and then we'll laugh, because that's how we do. but secretly, not so deep down inside, we'll both be terrified that he is, in fact, turning into one of us, if not both. the horror! seriously.
until that day, we take each moment, step-by-step, with so much joy, and so much trepidation, and by the grace of God, he won't turn into a serial killer. like how i set the bar real low? success = my son not being a serial killer (reference above point about being vice mayor of crazy town). but really, if only ted bundy's parents had had this small, but very appreciable aspiration.
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