The other day while driving, my baby tooth started to ache again. Usually it only aches in the middle of the night, possibly due to teeth grinding or something to that effect. Yes, I still have a baby tooth. I'm missing 3 total adult teeth and also all 4 wisdom teeth, which is yeah, a good thing, but dealing with the 3 other teeth makes up for it, both expense and pain-wise. Two of the adult teeth have been taken care of, at least for now, with miscellaneous bridges I have little faith in. Eventually, I suppose all 3 spaces will require permanent implants, a situation I choose at this time not to ponder. Here's what I can't help pondering, though. The one tooth, the one that's still here and aches and itches a lot, it's on the brink. It's like 5 seconds away from falling out and forcing a series of detestable trips to a dentist, and--for the love of pete--one more hateful payment plan. And it is yet another in a series of near-misses I can't stop myself from noticing.
Like driving. Caught up in the flow of traffic, the whole thing is a near-miss. Your car is mere inches from the car or truck or motorcyle or (the worst) concrete barrier next to you. What's to keep you in line. And blow-drying one's hair in the bathroom, inches from the sink or tub, what's to keep you from getting the thing wet and somehow electrocuting yourself. Or... using scissors. A few weeks ago I cut my shirt by accident, how come worse hasn't happened. I mean, I suppose--logically--it has to do with dexterity, caution, being taught way back in the day how to use scissors properly--or to drive--or to blow dry one's hair. But to me, it very often seems both scary and amazing how close we are, every single day, from a complete and total state of Mishappery.
I think these may be thoughts of someone with entirely too much time on her hands. Maybe. Or... maybe that's where the idea, "Don't think, just do," comes from. I'm famous for doing too much of the Thinking and too little of the Just-Doing. The thinking trips you up. And in raising K.Lo, so far I think I have, miraculously, done a lot of Just-Doing. I mean, what the hell do I know about babies--let me tell you, not a whole effing lot. In fact, I can count on one hand the number of times, before K.Lo, that I held a small person. Changed diapers, fed, entertained, taught, interacted with on any level? I don't even really need a hand to count those times, because they don't exist. And here I am, just kind of bumbling along, doo do dooo, taking care of a baby. And she's still alive and thriving? Amazing. And scary.
Scary, though, only when I really start the Thinking. Thinking about whether I'm doing a decent job--which, yes, is definitely necessary to a point, so as to kind of check yourself. I think people in general probably don't do enough of that. But then thinking about what the hell I'm going to do when she gets a little older. Will I still be doing such a good job? And then what about all the near-misses in her life. Now those freaking scare me. Really I can't even go there. So I guess I'll just keep winging it? I guess there's not really too much of a choice. Or, there is a choice, but I notice that so far, with the Just-Doing, I'm getting a whole lot better results. (At least, I Think.)
6 comments:
Keep it warm.
Food goes in the mouth.
You inspire me to think that I may succeed at Motherhood after all, also having been the youngest member of my family and having been a SERIOUS disaster at babysitting growing up. And only having held a count-on-one-hand number of babies. And feeling very inadequate amongst friends and relatives who seem to inherently have The Baby Gene, which results in some outward projection of Being Good With Children. I, on the other hand, had to be carefully monitored at a recent work event that involved lots of children as I am prone to be frightened and somewhat overwhelmed by small people. It was my own Near Miss.
It's quiet amazing, though, that despite having been so clumsy as to puncture my Diet Coke can on the car door this morning creating a sticky fizzy soda geyser, that I made it to work (in Wilmington traffic) without a scratch. It's the internal danger thermometer, I think. That thing that says, it's okay to be careless if bumping your shin (or cutting your shirt) but not okay to be careless about where to put the baby down. But still...it's always going to be a near miss.
The're not near-misses, they're near-hits.
-G. Carlin
Life in a nutshell, right?
I was thinking the other day about how I've never broken a bone (pause here to knock on wood), and how I really hope that never happens, but about how the probability of that happening once in this lifetime is high. I'll admit, I've been a little extra cautious since.
But you know, you just do your best. Things are going to happen, and yet somehow, everything is still going to be okay. That's the way of it. Babies are so fragile, and yet so resilient -- you figure, we're designed to bounce back from the shit we/life/others put us through (physically, I mean). We heal, we move on, we grow.
I'm getting preachy and I didn't mean to. All of that to say, I'm sure you're doing just fine, and I'm sure you'll continue to be a wonderful parent. Just roll with it and trust in yourself, you know?
Okay. Sermon finis .
Or, you know -- what Kurt says.
I heart you.
dd
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