Today, I was at Target for like the the thirteenth time in three weeks. I have been going there so often lately that I don't even buy any random crap there anymore. In the past, I couldn't get out of Target without at least one pair of leggings, a smelly candle or some interesting looking frozen appetizer. But as I go twice a week for diapers, breast feeding accessories, burp clothes etc., I am now intimately familiar with the inventory and I am not the least bit interested in the random purchases that usually entice me.
As I was leaving I noticed a purple balloon fly away. For some reason, the perfect purple oval caught my eye as it floated into the crisp, sunny, blue sky. I scanned the parking lot to see where it came from and discovered a little girl, about three years old, getting out of a minivan with her mom looking at her with intense concern. The little girl was shocked at losing her treasure and started gearing up to cry. Her mom, not wanting to cause her little girl any pain or disappointment was distraught and started apologizing over and over "Honey, I am so sorry. Sweetie, I am sorry we weren't able to hold onto it. Oh sweetie, I am sorry. I know, you are sad that it is gone." My heart just broke. I was acutely aware of this little girl's intense feelings of loss. It didn't matter to her that a balloon is free and of no monetary value. It didn't matter that it is an uncomplicated, silly little trifle. She obviously loved it, was enchanted by it, and almost certainly was delighted when she received it. The childish wonder at watching a balloon float and tug at a string is totally lost on us adults, who are so jaded, rushed and distracted, not even the wonders of a Wii Fit excites us. But not that little girl. That purple balloon was precious.
As I listened to her cry inconsolably, it occurred to me that as a parent, I would do anything not to have my kid (or kids) feel sad or have any kind of loss. I mean, it wasn't even my kid (or even a kid I would ever see again) and I could barely stand it. I was so sad for her to lose her little prize.
The thing is, I have 11 nieces and nephews and I have witnessed lots of sad, innocent little meltdowns about similar kid crises. And I have really only ever been concerned because I wanted them to stop crying. I have never felt any real empathy for their pain, mostly because I couldn't relate or because it seemed inconsequential. But not today. After I watched the whole balloon episode, I called Brent and started crying when I told him the story (and in my defense, I haven't been that emotional lately, I appear to have even dodged the baby blues). I thought of Oscar and J.J. and I literally couldn't stand thinking of them ever suffering, even over something as trivial as losing a balloon.
I never imagined I could ever be so tuned into another person (people). In the morning, when the boys wake up, no matter how deep a sleep I am in, or what time it is, I always wake up about 3 minutes before the boys start crying. They will be silent as a church mouse and then some instinct deep inside of me wakes me up to let me know that the boys are going to need me. It amazes me that when the boys cry, my milk lets down and I have to feed them. My breasts don't have ears, how do they know? And I already have a barometer for their safety and comfort. I innately know if a situation is too warm, too cold, or too germy for them. I just never expected to feel and respond to my children's needs so viscerally.
Parenting has changed us. Yes, it has removed some of our freedoms, our time to ourselves, and our sleep. But more importantly, it has made us into people with profound empathy for children, and their needs, their happiness, and their sadness. And these are all skills essential to being a good parent. The biggest change of all is not all the things that have been taken away, but all the things we have gained.
