My Life Issues

When I was pregnant with our daughter, Steve and I, like most first-time parents, were clueless. The way parenthood played out in our minds, we'd take our little bundle home, dress her in pink, know instinctively how to respond to every cry, play and laugh all day, put her to bed at 8, and then sit back, sip wine, enjoy a roaring fire, and sigh at the beatific wonders of parenthood. (Never mind that we didn't have a fireplace. We could dream.)

Great with child (and I was really great), I looked at other families in the grocery store and thought, "Our kids will never scream in the produce aisle. Our kids won't run around with pacifiers when they're almost three. Our kids won't pick their noses."

THE HARSH REALITIES OF PARENTHOOD

For the first few days of parenthood, our vision was right on. At Anna's baptism party, she was so beautiful and good (good equals quiet in parenting parlance) that
we thought being a mom and dad was simply magnificent.

One day in the second week, the reality truck hit. I still couldn't fit into my regular clothes, I couldn't stop crying, and the fourth diaper change in an hour made me wonder what I was doing to our baby's digestive system, whether we could afford these disposables after all, and why I'd bothered with college.

Two years later, tiny Philip, although incredibly cute in his blue sleeper, screamed all night long. We dubbed him the Phili-buster. Steve and I both feigned sleep, hoping the other would get up with him. Finally one of us flung the sheets back, muttered words we'd never want our baby to hear, and stomped off to the object of our love.

Other vivid memories of those years: the constant carpet of Cheerios, the surprising amount of pain a stray Barbie shoe can inflict on a bare foot, and the fear that I would never read a grown-up book again. Then some kindly old woman at church would smile and say, "Enjoy it, dear. These are the best years of your life." And I'd be petrified that she might be right.

Forgive me for leaning toward the mommy side of the tale. Dad may come home from a hard day at work, hoping for smiles and the whiff of pot roast, and find his wife standing at the door with a scowl. The only whiff is of Baby's tangy diaper, and the only thing his wife says is, "Here. Take him. I need a nap." Dad gives up his nights of basketball and softball to be with the family, and he turns down a tempting promotion because it means more hours away from home. He hopes for a little private time with his wife at night, but she falls asleep before her head hits the pillow and then mumbles dreamily, "Please don't touch Mommy."

NO EASY FORMULA FOR PARENTHOOD

I'm sorry if the reality truck is hitting too hard. I've heard that some parents have better instincts or more even temperaments or they read the right books or something, and for them parenthood is a picnic. I admire these parents.

I know that those desperately waiting for a child would give anything for just one of those sleepless nights. I don't mean to sound ungrateful for God's blessings. It's just that having children changes your marriage in huge—and unexpected—ways.

Now would be a good time for a bulleted list of "Things to remember when you're new parents." These lists always include the same things: attending church, holding regular family devotions, making time for "dates," and communicating about more than just your kids' science projects.

Those lists are good, but they omit too much. Like what to do when one of you has a lower tolerance for a toy-strewn house than the other. Or who should walk your fussing baby out of church and after how many seconds of crying. Or if girls' nights out are still an option.

No, there's no formula for making those early parenting years great for you and your marriage.