We are such strange beings, us parental units. Things we would never have done in our former lives — that we would have turned up our noses and snorted at — we now do freely. Things that seem so outlandish, ridiculous, and frankly, disgusting.
Take for instance the other day at pre-school as we dropped my two-year-old daughter off. I was in the passenger seat of the car giving her a kiss goodbye. My wife was carrying her and I noticed a little something in the little girl’s nostril. It was a “UNO” — an unidentified nasal object. I couldn’t let her go into school like that, and after failing myself to extract it, my wife — the old pro — went in for the kill, sans tissue. (We were already late and unprepared for duty such as this.)
“Now what do I do with it?” she asked, stumped.
Then, even shocking myself, I said, “Here, give it to me. I’ll figure something out.”
My wife thanked me and trudged off with child, leaving me with the UNO.
“Now what do I do with it?” I thought.
But that’s the life of a parent. Never in my wildest imagination — not in some crazed hallucinatory delirium brought on by spoiled fruit or bad fish — could I ever have pictured this: me sitting in a car staring at a “boogie” on the end of my finger. I couldn’t even have ever imagined myself being so selfless, so thoughtful, and shoot, so brave!
“I’ll take a toddler boogie for you, honey,” is not the kind of line you would have heard from Bogart. I’m still shocked it came from me.
But there I was, and serious. That’s love. That’s sacrifice. That’s being a parent.
And that’s kind of what makes it fun. The things that you will do for one another.
My dad left a message on my answering machine one day. He was out with my 14-year-old sister shopping for fishnet stockings that she needed for a part in a high school play.
“Get ready, Brian,” he warned over the machine. “It’s coming. This is your future!”
My goodness, I can’t even imagine right now. I’m still amazed that when my little girl comes to me with a hangnail and tells me it hurts, I can find a pair of fingernail clippers, sit her on the sofa and actually snip it off without taking part of her finger.
“Better?” I asked. Remarkably, she said “yes.” And no stitches required.
What I’m finding is that parents have to snap into action, no matter what the situation. Be it dangerous or mundane, disgusting or difficult, we hop to it and save the day. We act where others might shrink away or toss up their hands and say, “my contract says nothing about that.”
As I write this, I hear in the background sounds of my wife giving my daughter a bath in the tub. Through the sound of running water I make out a toddler’s whining followed by, “Don’t worry. It’s OK. We’ll take care of it. It’s just some poopies on your hand.”
What … when … how … how did it come to this?
But there it is. This is parenthood. Only a mother, and a good one at that, could possibly tackle such a circumstance in a graceful and matter-of-fact way.
Nothing surprises me anymore. Nothing is too over-the-top or unbelievable. The unexpected and extraordinary are suddenly commonplace.
If my wife called in from the other room to say, “Hon, it appears our child has grown wings and is throwing-up fire,” I would call back in my calmest voice, “Be right there. I told you this might happen.”
What strange beings we are, us parents. Nothing fazes us. Nothing is too out of the ordinary. Nothing is too disgusting that we can’t tackle. And we’ll always find someplace to put a stray UNO.