As the deafening noise rose to the decibel levels you only get with erupting volcanoes or, say, planets exploding, I looked over to see a comrade hand me a pair of construction-grade noise-protection ear muffs. They were the same kind that you see worn by guys at rifle ranges who are firing howitzers.
He was already wearing a pair, and I laughed. I thought it was just a joke — or maybe he’d had one beer too many. But he said, “Seriously, might want to put these on. This could go on for a while.”
So I did. And funny thing was, I could hear myself think again. It blotted out all the noise and all the insanity that had encircled me. It allowed me to ponder great questions like: Is this my future? Is this what it means to be a parent? Is it too late to trade the little one in for say a riding mower or a walk-in freezer? Have we entered a new stage? Will I be able to conjure up the strength to survive it all? Will she be like these other kids when she grows up? And how did I not see this coming?
I looked at my buddy. He was smiling, and if I read the look on his face correctly, he was thinking, “Don’t worry. You’ll learn.”
Some friends of ours who had just bought a new house held a shrimp boil this past weekend to celebrate their soon-to-be construction area. Call it a pre-house-warming or a groundbreaking. Either way, we were certain by the stacks of flooring stashed throughout the house and the sledgehammer by the front door that the real intention was to put us to work.
Not that there could have been any with all the kids running around! There were little kids like my 20-month-old and big kids, who must have spent the entire morning drinking coffee and eating sugar by the ladle-full.
The source of the noise I mentioned before was a show they decided to put on for us adults. In typical little-kid fashion, it involved a lot of screaming, some rather impressive (but un-intended) gymnastics, a lot of running, several fights, a crash into a wall that left a cartoon-esque imprint of the poor lad in the drywall (again, un-intended), and the grand finale — a 6-person band with audience participation. My little girl played the tambourine.
The noise was deafening. Deafening like sitting next to the speakers at a rock concert. For the next week, all you hear in your ears is static and a high-pitched hum. Deafening like it caused mortar to come loose in the fireplace, and neighbors thought there was a monster truck rally next door.
It was loud, crazy and bordered on totally out of control. At one point I swore I heard one kid yell out, “Come on, let’s go burn down the kitchen!” and everyone ran out after him.
With my construction-grade ear protection on, and my daughter amidst it all (not quite knowing what to think … but definitely liking it), I saw my future flash before my eyes.
This is it. A lot more of this. This, and all the time. This, but even noisier.
This, this, this … It’s what we’re graduating to.
Nobody tells you that parenthood comes in stages, or that just when you think you’ve mastered it all, that you know everything, or have it all figured out, it changes on you in an instant. Now there’s something new to learn, and you’re a newbie parent all over again — a papa neophyte. I thought babies were tough? I thought babies were loud? What I’m learning is this: Never take being a parent for granted. Never think you know it all. Never lull yourself into believing that the way it is now is the way it will be tomorrow.
And whenever you have it, by all means enjoy the silence, because fact of the matter is it probably won’t last. Not even if you have ear protection.