Beauty

Today, Baby Badger woke up from her nap crying and somewhat disoriented.  She asked for a bottle of milk, and I brought her downstairs, holding her on my lap.  She drank her milk and drowsed a bit before fully waking up and looking up at me with a smile.  I don't know what prompted it, but I held her close and we sang "Take Me Out to the Ballgame" together, and she clapped.

For me, as a young adult, to think about what was beautiful was to focus on the superficial.  Models, actresses selling make-up, any other woman who was admired for her hair or face or body.  Always subtle jealousy and feelings of inadequacy because to be considered beautiful was always a title bestowed by someone else.

I wandered into the Boy Badgers' room late tonight to turn off the fish tank light.  As I do every night, I adjusted their blankets and gave them kisses.  And as I do every night, I stare at their little faces.  My oldest was sleeping peacefully, looking, to me, exactly as he did as a baby.  And I had the thought that if I watched him sleep again, many years from now, I would see my baby still.

When I became a Mommy, I still had those self-deprecating thoughts of my own attractiveness, magnified by weight gain and exhaustion.  But I found myself reserving the word beautiful for my children.  Even for brand-new infants, crying with soiled diapers or a food-stained bib, I saw beauty, and I allowed myself to define it.  It was suddenly beyond face-value and it ran deeper, resonating with new emotions.

The Little Badgers and I visited my grandmother in her nursing home earlier this week.  She will be ninety-five in a couple months, and has difficulty hearing and seeing.  In fact, for most of our visit, she didn't seem to notice that we were there, and I'm still not sure she knew who we were.  But, at one point, she looked right at me with her blue eyes shining, and she smiled.

For me, to be a Mommy is to feel full.  To walk around most of the time with strong emotion somewhere close by.  To see beauty in things that, in others' eyes, may seem commonplace, or ordinary.  My child's chubby hand gripping a cup.  The brilliance of the sky over our home.  A moment spent talking with my sister.  Beauty, now, comes with gratitude, and acknowledgment.  My perception of beauty is no longer as a facade, but representative of a personal journey, informed by love, and defined by experience.

The Step-Back

As a parent, it can be said that when you are in, you're in.  Even when you're out (at dinner, say), you're still in.  Just maybe not as an immediate presence.  But how far do you step back as a parent, when someone else, especially someone who is capable, loving, and tested steps in?  When that person is a grandparent, things can get complicated.

Stepping back, as a parent, isn't just confined to date night or a play date; it can be more subtle and familiar.  For us in the Badger household, transfer of power occurs every weeknight, when, after dinner, Daddy River Badger steps up to give the Little Badgers baths while I clean the kitchen.  I can step back for a while, even fool around on my phone, appreciate the cool evening breeze, or give some attention to my pouting cat.  Inevitably, there will be a streaking Baby racing through the kitchen, or Little Brother hopefully asking that I help get him dressed, but DRB is pilot-in-command.  And the step-back usually works in everyone's favor.  Given that shift in responsibilities, my shoulders relax, my head stops pounding, and I am refreshed, ready and eager to be there for my children.  And for the Little Badgers, all the anxiety of having to eat vegetables and not wiggle in their chairs falls away and they delight in the undivided attention of their Daddy.

However, sometimes the step-back is not as obvious and immediately satisfying; especially where grandparents are concerned.  Often this step-back yields time for Mommy to have a beer and relax, or sleep in a little, or go to the gym.  The Little Badgers are never happier than being just a little spoiled by their grandmothers, but, I worry that I am taking advantage.  And here's another problem: my rules may not necessarily be their rules, and too often when Mommy swoops back in, there's some confusion.

Here's an example.  Grandma Badger's house has a very steep staircase.  Me, being the overprotective Mommy, told the Little Badgers that they absolutely had to go down the stairs on their bottoms, no questions asked.  Grandma, separately, and without knowledge of my "rule" said that they must go down on their bottoms until the mid-point of the stairs, where there was a railing.  Poor Little Brother Badger was caught by his ever-vigilant Mommy standing exactly at the midpoint in his sleep suit.  I yelled.  He started to cry.  When I realized that he was following Grandma's rule, I felt terrible.  I apologized, I held him.  I think I stepped back too far.

And then there are the examples of when I (or Daddy River Badger) didn't step back far enough.  At Grammy Badger's house, children are indulged, and, I believe, rightly so.  I adore the sheer Little Badger happiness that comes when Grammy presents waffles with watermelon and a little whipped cream for breakfast, or a popsicle for a snack.  But, every now and then, we, the parents, overstep.  We make superior-sounding comments about the amount of sugar in the yogurt, or the number of cookies at snack time, and we hurt feelings.

When I am in the company of my own parents, and my parents-in-law, I trust them, and their judgement.  I trust the care of my children to them, and that's all that needs to be said.  I think I just have to work on the transition; I'm in charge, but I'm in the background.  I want my children to enjoy their grandparents and to build their own independent relationships without Mommy constantly hovering.  I want to let the Little Badgers' grandparents know how blessed we feel to have them in our lives, and how important they are.  We believe in them, because they raised us, and because they share our deep love for our babies.

My stepping back is necessary, I believe, for my children to start to learn how to be independent, to relate to others on their own terms, and to have a break from their parents' idiosyncrasies.  But I also think it is also necessary for me; to see our parents in a new perspective, to build and enjoy love and trust and shared experiences.  Being a parent means that when you're in, you're in; in the fray, in the whirlwind.  Having that chance to take a breath and step back and watch, and appreciate, and treasure the moment, is a gift.