Of all the crazy things people tell you when you have a baby, “Enjoy every minute” tops my list of advice that is absolutely well-intentioned in theory, and nuts in practice.
“Enjoy Every Minute,” or “EEM,” as we shall call it, is a saccharine, one-size-fits-all Hallmark greeting that in no way encapsulates the period of absolute CrazyTown otherwise known as having a baby, a Dreft detergent-scented time that can be disorienting, stressful and thoroughly discombobulating for most people, to say nothing of women who experience full-blown postpartum depression.
A few days after my son was born, I remember typing out a quick, desperate email to one of my best friends, detailing the ins and outs of breast-feeding mishaps, hormones and the sheer terror that something would happen to this amazing creature I had just given birth to.
“Newborns are absurdly hard,” she wrote. “Absurdly.”
It was a simple response, but she didn’t try to gild the lily, and I loved her for it. It was all I needed at that point.
That’s why, whenever I congratulate a friend or acquaintance on having a baby, I make sure to include the word “crazy” in my message, to convey that I know exactly what this time is like, even while it is simultaneously wonderful and happy and incredible and joyous and unbelievable.
Other words I sometimes include: “Nutty,” “Insane” and “Berserker Town” (I like adding “Town” at the end of adjectives).
I do not tell them to EEM.
It’s not just every minute of babyhood that one is supposed to savor like a fine wine, though — it’s apparently every minute of childhood, because parents of older children still say it to me. (No one has told me to “enjoy” the teenage years, but maybe that’s just because my son is still a toddler.)
Speaking of toddlers, this weekend my family and I went on a trip to Mystic, Conn.
We thought we had it all figured out: Mystic was only a two-hour car ride away, well within the accepted limits of toddler travel time (or so I declared, confidently, to family and friends). What’s more, our son would love the Mystic Seaport, the beach and the aquarium. We had reserved a suite at the hotel, so that he could sleep in the living room area while we closed the door and watched TV in the next room.
It would all be perfect. Who said you can’t travel with young kids? We were going to EEM the hell out of this trip!
(Parents of older children will recognize in this narrative the actions of a parenting rookie, a wide-eyed Pollyanna of the kiddie travel set. I obviously wasn’t yet familiar with the thoughts of Round Table writer Robert Benchley, who opined: “In America, there are two classes of travel — first class, and with children.” Dude knew what he was talking about; he had three sons.)
So, it rained in beautiful Mystic. And the “suite” at the hotel, while perfectly large, turned out to have a partitioned bedroom area rather than a separate room. No door meant no TV viewing opportunities once he went to bed. It’s a good thing my husband and I are both huge readers.
Did I talk about how it rained?
Yes, it rained, so we had the same idea as every other parent in Mystic (and there are, I think, only parents in Mystic, Conn.; people without kids have no need to get their kicks at historic seaports).
We went to the aquarium.
As Sartre wrote, Hell is other people at the Mystic Aquarium on a rainy day during the height of the tourism season.
I’m sure it’s great when not packed to the brim with strollers and stressed-out parents and screaming kids. You couldn’t even see most of the fish because there were so many mothers and fathers standing in front of them, wanting to make sure their children saw the fish, did you see the fish, look at the fish, dammit.
My son didn’t care about the fish. We still haven’t figured out the strange mathematical equation of Animals He’s Interested In vs. Supreme Indifference.
Other highlights of the trip included: More rain, sulky stroller rides, overturned water jugs, smashed yogurt containers and meals at family-friendly restaurants where we were nevertheless Those People, the ones everyone else in the restaurant is hoping will leave as soon as possible (see above).
As a parent, I tend to be overly aware of what everyone else is thinking, so much so that I often wish for the sweet oblivion of those parents who barrel through life, doing what they want, annoying everyone and really not caring about all the rolled eyes and sighs they leave in their wake.
Life must be sweet bliss for these people.
The toddler woke up at 5:00 the next morning, screaming and ready for action. (Apologies to the people in Room 216 of the Mystic Hyatt Place: You deserved better than us.)
We brought him to an open field by the sea in nearby Stonington. He continued his tantrum, but there was no one to bother but his parents, so it was fine.
Actually, it wasn’t fine, it was kind of awful, but my husband and I laughed a lot. There was coffee.
“That was a total pain in the ass and not really any fun, but I’m still glad we went,” he said after we got back home.
Indeed, despite having happened less than a week ago, it has already become part of our family lore, something we’ll tell him about when he’s older and couldn’t care less.
Because having kids makes nostalgic maniacs of us all, which is what’s really at the heart of “Enjoy Every Minute.”
Beyond its bland façade, what people are really saying is:
“Enjoy every minute, even the ones where you’re losing your mind — yes, even those. Especially those. Because these moments, these hard, patience-testing moments, are not enjoyable in the least, and yet one day soon, you’ll be laughing at them. They are badges of honor.
“Enjoy every minute, even the afternoons where 15 minutes can feel like 10 years, because one day in the not-so distant future, your child will be growing, growing, grown and you’ll find yourself saying mushy things to people having kids, stopping them in grocery stores and looking wistful, because you’re thinking about your own time raising young kids.
“Enjoy every minute, because while even on those days when everything feels impossible, where simply getting dressed and out of the house in the morning feels like a heady victory, you will look back and recognize in this difficult madness one of the sweetest, craziest times of your life.”