I am going to be a great parent. Eventually. I may not have it totally down at this point, but I know exactly what kind of parent I'm going to be. Rather, I know exactly what kind of life I'm going to give young Samson.
Over the weekend we had our first trip to the emergency room. Everyone is OK, and I forgot to take pictures. Samson had a fall and had bumped his head, and the ER doctor assessed the situation.
ER Doc: "Well hello there, Samson. Aren't you cute. Can you do the wheels on the bus go round and round?" (ER Doc makes rolling gestures with his hands)
Samson: "The wheels on the what now?"
ER Doc: "How big?" (ER Doc stretches out his arms, and is apparently waiting for Samson to stretch his arms out as well) "So big!"
Samson: "Say what?"
ER Doc "Hmm."
OK, so apparently I'm supposed to by singing these gesture-filled songs to him, and not just watching the Today Show with him. Between Sunday morning and now, I have sung the Wheels on the Bus, oh, about 30 gajillion times. And he really likes it. And that's the kind of parent I've been so far. Oh, I'm supposed to be doing something? Oh, he's supposed to start drinking milk? I'll get right on that. Right after naptime. It's not that I don't try or care, because I care as much as anyone can care about something, and I try hard, damn hard.
Here's the thing. When I was about 7, this wonderful perfect thing called My Little Pony was introduced to the world. And they were perfect. Especially Moondancer and Surprise. They were the prettiest, most beautiful ponies ever to grace the earth. Then, one magical year, the marketing geniuses behind these perfect ponies invented BABY PONIES. And I remember watching the commercial that announced the sparkly new arrivals, and I was SO. FREAKING. EXCITED. And when I got Baby Moondancer and Baby Surprise for Chanukah that year, I was happier than I had ever been before. I felt that everything was right and that the world was a friendly and exciting place. I could do anything and everything was possible. I still get that feeling when it's sunny and crisp and autumnal. I get that feeling at dusk when it's dark and foggy and M. Ward is playing on the stereo. I get that feeling after it rains and I can smell the eucalyptus tree in the backyard.
I want to teach Samson to feel like that. I realize that it's not toys that bring that feeling--jeez, if it were, I'd go out right now and buy every last toy in every last Toys R Us in every last strip mall from here to Wasilla. But I realize it's not toys that bring that feeling. I'm not sure what does bring that feeling, except that it has something to do with feeling secure, and loved, and supported. I'm going to be a great parent.