Every moment is an opportunity to tumble and play for Stella. Every moment is an opportunity to laugh, to discover, to learn, to love. This list, like Stella's potential, is endless.
Parents aren’t supposed to admit that they’re jealous of their children. Or at least mature, well adjusted parents aren’t supposed to. But I’m wondering if feelings of envy stem from a natural and evolutionary inevitability – we look to our children for inspiration and often look forward with a sense of hope. That hope is energizing indeed, but it can also remind us of what we are not.
So at eighteen months, Stella already has me beat on a few fronts. I only begrudge her one or two (wink wink), and thankfully they’re the minor and superficial ones. But that still doesn’t prevent me from gazing upon her with wonder and a bit of envy.
Of the important things, I envy Stella’s innocence. I know, it’s the obvious one. But it’s true. Stella never battles cynicism at this point. She accepts life as it is, and to her this life is wondrous and fresh. Each day is an opportunity for exploration and love. Throw in a cookie or a new story and life is out-and-out fabulous. She’s confident and proud exactly when she should be, and she’s cuddly and quiet exactly when she needs to be. She looks at her body with true wonder, focusing on what it can do rather than what it is not. She (hopefully) feels little shame about her blunders and stumbles, and forgives without the urge to hold a grudge. She is open to the kind of love and kinship that, if harnessed by world leaders, would change this planet instantaneously. On my good days, I try to emulate this openness. On my bad days, I watch and study. I envy her these traits and am working tirelessly to help her retain these qualities as she grows. That’s what good parenting is, right? Recognizing who your child truly is and helping them become their best version of that self.
As far as superficial stuff goes, there are just a few things I envy. Stella has the bangs I’ve always wanted. I’ve wrestled with a cowlick more powerful than Niagara Falls for my entire life and have been relegated to the entirely respectable but slightly dissatisfied community of brushed-to-the-side-bangers. Oh, and did I mention she has the most beautiful curls when it’s warm out. She’s totally unaware of how many haircuts I’ve botched in effort to achieve her just-out-of-bed look.
Okay, I wish I had as cute a tush as hers.
Aside from her hair and her hiney, there are admittedly a few things I would not trade Stella. Her life is a lot more challenging due to her minimal verbal skills. And of course, her needs and desires are absolutely overwhelming. This is not a good combination. When she wants to sit on the counter, she’s willing to thrash about on the floor to get there. I guess feeling her feelings so deeply is both desirable and undesirable. I wish we were all so honest with our emotions. But I also see where crazed and unchecked emotional outbreaks can lead. Oh, and she’s pretty short right now.
I’m actually glad I envy Stella a bit. It reminds me, yet again… and again… and again, that we are most definitely different people, and I have a whole lot to learn from her. The cool part is that I don’t resent her for any of this. While I envy her innocence, her joy, her killer bangs, I do so happily. I honestly delight in the ways Stella is better off than me. I suspect this is me creeping into a whole new level of selflessness as far as parenting. I think I now get it when parents of older children suffer through ice cold nights on bun-numbing stadium seats to watch their kids jump hurdles or score goals. And I think I can see myself sitting through hours of ridiculously painful piano recitals just to hear my little one give Für Elise her best. It’s not that parents particularly enjoy these actual activities – anyone who tries to convince me that children’s tap is an enjoyable form of entertainment is automatically denied any dinner invitation to my house – but they do enjoy that sense of pride and, yes, envy as they watch their child move more bravely or gracefully than they ever could. It’s evolution, really, and I am loving that I will always have the front seat reserved for me as Stella's mama.
So at eighteen months, Stella already has me beat on a few fronts. I only begrudge her one or two (wink wink), and thankfully they’re the minor and superficial ones. But that still doesn’t prevent me from gazing upon her with wonder and a bit of envy.
Of the important things, I envy Stella’s innocence. I know, it’s the obvious one. But it’s true. Stella never battles cynicism at this point. She accepts life as it is, and to her this life is wondrous and fresh. Each day is an opportunity for exploration and love. Throw in a cookie or a new story and life is out-and-out fabulous. She’s confident and proud exactly when she should be, and she’s cuddly and quiet exactly when she needs to be. She looks at her body with true wonder, focusing on what it can do rather than what it is not. She (hopefully) feels little shame about her blunders and stumbles, and forgives without the urge to hold a grudge. She is open to the kind of love and kinship that, if harnessed by world leaders, would change this planet instantaneously. On my good days, I try to emulate this openness. On my bad days, I watch and study. I envy her these traits and am working tirelessly to help her retain these qualities as she grows. That’s what good parenting is, right? Recognizing who your child truly is and helping them become their best version of that self.
As far as superficial stuff goes, there are just a few things I envy. Stella has the bangs I’ve always wanted. I’ve wrestled with a cowlick more powerful than Niagara Falls for my entire life and have been relegated to the entirely respectable but slightly dissatisfied community of brushed-to-the-side-bangers. Oh, and did I mention she has the most beautiful curls when it’s warm out. She’s totally unaware of how many haircuts I’ve botched in effort to achieve her just-out-of-bed look.
Okay, I wish I had as cute a tush as hers.
Aside from her hair and her hiney, there are admittedly a few things I would not trade Stella. Her life is a lot more challenging due to her minimal verbal skills. And of course, her needs and desires are absolutely overwhelming. This is not a good combination. When she wants to sit on the counter, she’s willing to thrash about on the floor to get there. I guess feeling her feelings so deeply is both desirable and undesirable. I wish we were all so honest with our emotions. But I also see where crazed and unchecked emotional outbreaks can lead. Oh, and she’s pretty short right now.
I’m actually glad I envy Stella a bit. It reminds me, yet again… and again… and again, that we are most definitely different people, and I have a whole lot to learn from her. The cool part is that I don’t resent her for any of this. While I envy her innocence, her joy, her killer bangs, I do so happily. I honestly delight in the ways Stella is better off than me. I suspect this is me creeping into a whole new level of selflessness as far as parenting. I think I now get it when parents of older children suffer through ice cold nights on bun-numbing stadium seats to watch their kids jump hurdles or score goals. And I think I can see myself sitting through hours of ridiculously painful piano recitals just to hear my little one give Für Elise her best. It’s not that parents particularly enjoy these actual activities – anyone who tries to convince me that children’s tap is an enjoyable form of entertainment is automatically denied any dinner invitation to my house – but they do enjoy that sense of pride and, yes, envy as they watch their child move more bravely or gracefully than they ever could. It’s evolution, really, and I am loving that I will always have the front seat reserved for me as Stella's mama.
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