the child of my dreams

Despite my aversion to baby/parenting books (see last post), I have a monthly subscription to "Today's Parent" (I can get it el cheapo on my Rogers bill). I don't generally find it all that useful (except for the occasional recipe) but I enjoy reading it and I have a certain amount of respect for the people who produce it. I mean really, props to them for putting together something that's supposed to appeal to parents of newborns and parents of teenagers. Really that's kind of like trying to create a meaningful publication for tattoo addicts and macrame enthusiasts. Anyway, one of their monthly features is a reader submitted piece on some aspect of parenting. Recently it was a piece by a woman admitting her intense shock and indeed sadness at finding out she and her partner were expecting a baby boy. Of course it goes without saying that she is now completely besotted with their gorgeous little boy but her piece spoke about how when she had imagined her life with a child, she had always imagined a girl. She didn't have anything against boys, just a long held fantasy that she would be the mother of a girl.

Reading the piece got me thinking about how aspirational parenthood is. Even before they are born, children inspire a future looking mentality where many of ones hopes and dreams reside. For many of us the decision to have kids is one we made long ago. It may not even really have been a decision - just a belief that we would one day be parents. I know that's how it was for me. I never imagined a future that didn't include having kids. I can't say I ever gave a whole lot of thought to whether or not these children would be boys or girls but reading this article reminded me that I definitely did have a vision of what my child would be like. And while I didn't experience her feelings of intense sadness, I did have many moments where my dreams of what my child would be like and who he actually was were very, very different.

He is of course perfect. Perfectly Gabriel. But from an early age it became clear that what I expected my child to be like and who Gabriel was did not always overlap. I remember eagerly looking forward to the day he would be able to grasp a crayon and scribbley masterpieces would cover my fridge. I couldn't wait to enjoy his first works of self-produced art. Let's just say that if Molly hadn't come along, our fridge would be pretty bare. Despite my efforts to engage him in arts and crafts, Gabriel never latched on. Of course he delighted and thrilled us in a million different ways but there was often a little pang of sadness when I saw swirly finger paintings on the fridges of other parents. A little sigh when the crafts that came home from drop-in were very clearly crafted by my mother-in-law or Ana, his caregiver. Now it's true that over the years I have been lucky enough to receive some lovely works of art from Gabriel but it's definitely not how he'd prefer to spend his time. Looking back I'm surprised at how long it took me to accept that this is the way Gabriel is. But I can say that I now enjoy being able to easily pick out his decidedly "minimalist" pieces of art from the display outside his classroom!

Like many parents I had always imagined and looked forward to the day my child would participate in his first school concert/recital/soccer game. We would of course be charmed as our little cutie flubbed his lines/missed the ball and gave us a little wave while doing so. Well, that bubble got burst when Gabriel flat out refused to wear the cap and gown ensemble for his pre-school "graduation" and balked heavily at the idea of walking across the stage to receive his "diploma". I watched all the other kids lined up in the caps and gowns and I can't say I didn't wonder why my kid wouldn't participate. A year later, my heart ached a little when his JK teacher asked if we were going to bother coming to the spring concert; Gabriel hadn't participated in a single rehearsal so there was little reason to imagine he'd do so at the concert. Well, we showed up and you know what, he actually stood on stage with his class for one song. He spent the second song holding a teacher's hand at the side of the stage. We considered that a huge success.

I call Gabriel my "unconventional" child. In a given situation, you can never count on him to behave as the majority of kids will. Time with this unconventional little soul has reminded me that it's good to know your own mind, to do your own thing, to stick to your guns. Conventional children wake up and want to know what the plans for the day are. Unconventional children wake up, pee, play with Lego for 3 hours and need to be reminded to eat breakfast. Unconventional children beg you not to register them for day camp "ever ever ever again" (even though they actually had fun). Unconventional children love what you thought they'd hate and hate what you thought they'd love. Unconventional children keep you on your toes.

But because I'm blessed, mother nature very kindly provided us with a child that does love to draw and perform and go willingly to day camp. The "conventional" one who pretty much always does what you expect (pretty much...). The one who's everything I imagined a child of mine would be right down to her endless desire to provide me with more scribbly drawings than I know what to do with. The one who, at age 3, eagerly went on stage and forgot to pirouette at her first dance recital.

The contrasts between my children allow me to enjoy motherhood as I imagined it to be and to experience joys I never knew were possible (remember when I mentioned he wakes, pees and plays contentedly by himself?). While I enjoy Molly's prolific artistic nature, every work from Gabriel is something to be carefully treasured. Every performance he gives, be it in a school concert or on the soccer field, is deeply appreciated because he rarely participates without some serious reservations.

Babies come in to the world with their own little agendas safely stowed in their tiny, sweet heads. As parents we have agendas of our own long before those sweet heads ever even rest on our shoulders. The magical thing about parenthood is that those agendas cannot help but become aligned. No matter what, your children cannot help but be just right for you.