essays – parenting

The Contents of My Pockets

I reached into my pocket and pulled out a shark. At that moment I smiled at the realization that my life had truly changed in the last two years. It wasn’t a real shark, mind you, but one of those fruit snacks in the shape of one. I remembered that I had picked it up off the floor of Target to throw away later (and to quickly put it out of my son’s sight so he wouldn’t want it back).

Two years ago I would have reached into my pocket and pulled out a to-do list of business items, a receipt from an overpriced lunch or even a mint to tide me over on my drive from work. Now I find fruit snacks, miscellaneous pieces of toys and pebbles picked up from playgrounds.

They say children sometimes laugh a hundred times a day. Before I had a child, I couldn’t say I laughed a hundred times a year. And I’m the kind of person who likes to laugh. I much prefer comedies to dramas. So what has changed?  My focus has changed. Not just the fact that I focus on my child now, but the fact that I focus on the moment. Sure, I make plans like errands to run and things that need to be done around the house. I still work part-time, so there are still goals and tasks that reach into the distance. But the focus of each day is structured differently. There are chunks of time set aside so we can just be. We let the world happen around us as we watch. We talk to the cactus as we water it or stand silent guard as we observe the garbage truck making its rounds. We focus intently on how the plastic fire truck is put together and work on parking the plastic train under the table for the twentieth time today.

Every now and then I feel the need to get away and join my friends for a few hours of adult conversation. They talk about all the great new restaurants they’ve been to and what great deals they got on new clothes and shoes. I briefly feel for that way of life that will no longer be mine. It always comes back around, though, to discussing how wonderful my child is and how precious time has become.

So I look down at the sticky purple blob in my hand that still halfway resembles an ocean-going beast and pause before I throw it away. It is a symbol, and I know that this is what I hope to find in my pockets for years to come.