The First Line

When TH and I used to talk about what we'd be like as parents, the joke was that while we may attempt to do the whole "united front" thing, in reality he would be the fun parent, the "good cop," and I would be the disciplinarian, the "bad cop." As much as I hated this and would get irritated by him seemingly creating that reality, those role expectations, so far in advance, the inescapable truth is that they are grounded in reality. I have always been disciplined. I push myself. I set goals and want to accomplish them, regardless of the uncomfortable details that may be thrown into the bargain. And now that baby girl is here, those roles have proven (not surprisingly) to be pretty accurate. I'm the one who reads the baby books, who does the research, who sets our trajectory. So while I may not like the label, I do acknowledge that it fits.

And in truth, I didn't think I would mind being stern as a parent. My own dad was . . . well . . . let's just say we learned where the lines existed quickly. And we never, ever crossed them. And my brother and I were raised as polite, well-behaved children who have both turned into successful, hardworking adults. There has to be something to that. And I always knew that it would take a version of that sternness, of that discipline in the home, to have my own children turn out the same--polite, well-behaved, hardworking, respectful. I knew this and never had a second thought about it.

Up 'til now, there hasn't really been any disciplining going on with baby girl. There's not a lot you can do with a baby that young. When they cry, they cry because they need something from you. When they do something they're "not supposed to," like grabbing the cat's tail or smacking their hand into their own dirty diaper, it's not because they are consciously testing the boundaries but because they really can't yet grasp obscure concepts like "should" and "shouldn't." Up 'til now, there's been no point in taking a stern tone with her, or trying to teach her the meaning of "no." Up 'til now.

Now baby girl is seven months old and is starting to understand us. Though she can't speak back to us yet, she knows the meaning of words, like her name and "kitty" and "more." She'll do something, get a reaction from us, and then keep doing it to see if she can get the same reaction. She's starting to grasp cause-and-effect. And while this emergence of skills, this development, has been my most favorite thing so far to watch in her, I know it also means that it's time to start showing her where some lines exist.

One of the cutest things that she does is blowing raspberries. She'll stick her little tongue between her lips and blow until spit is flying everywhere. We'll laugh like maniacs and do it write back to her, prompting her to do it again. We'll go back and forth with this, laughing and having a whole "conversation" of just blowing raspberries back and forth at each other. Adorable, right? Funny? Irresistible?

It totally is. Until she does it at the dinner table with a mouth full of pureed black beans. Cue shower of black beans on Mom. So, I drew baby girl's very first behavioral line. I didn't smile back at her. I told her in a low, calm voice, "No. We don't do that at the dinner table." She smiled, thinking I had just missed it. Wasn't this the game we played all the time? She did it again, eyes, twinkling, waiting for me to reward her with a laugh and smile and return raspberry. But I didn't. I looked at her with a blank face and again said, "No, Ali." And for the first time in my life, I saw confusion in her eyes. And it broke my heart into a million pieces.

I could just imagine her wondering what was wrong, why I wasn't playing our game together like I usually did. She gave me another, tentative, blow with a questioning look in her eyes. I just watched her and didn't respond. I wonder if she had any idea how hard it was for me not to laugh, not to smile, not to play our usual game. Then I offered her another bite of food, and when she took it and didn't blow it out all over my face, I gave her my biggest smile, my happiest voice, and rained down praise on her. Joy flooded her face--"Yay! Mom's back! Let's play!"--and she tried her raspberry again. I stopped smiling, shook my head slowly, and sat back in my chair, saying calmly, "No, Ali. Not at the dinner table." And her smile faded. And my heart broke.

And we did this back and forth a few times until she learned that she wouldn't get fed if she was blowing raspberries, that she wouldn't get smiles from mom. She stopped doing it and finished the rest of her dinner with gusto, amid much praise and smiles and songs from me. And when we finished dinner and were outside playing in the swing, we resumed our funny raspberries game.

It was the first time I've done anything to try to "discipline" my baby. And it was so much harder than I thought it would be. To see the confusion in her eyes, to see the smile fade from her lips, her cheeks--I felt awful. Even though I know it was the right thing to do, I felt absolutely awful. It was the first time in my life that I've wished there were no rules, nothing that she ever had to learn that would be hard for her, no boundaries, no lines to be drawn. Even though I know that's not what's best for her. Even though I know that she needs me, as her parent, to show here exactly where those lines and boundaries are.

Now I understand . . . or at least I have a glimmer of understanding . . . what parents mean when they say things like "this is harder on me than it is on you." And I know that baby girl won't understand me if I ever utter that phrase to her. She won't understand the heartbreak I felt at seeing her smile fade when I wouldn't blow raspberries back at her at the dinner table. Eventually, when she's older, she'll get mad at me when I draw a line. She'll feel betrayed, like I'm not supporting her. She'll feel like we just don't understand her, like we're old fuddy-duddies who are hopelessly out of touch with what it's like to be a child.

I wish I could tell her in those moments that I do understand. That I love her. That I want what's best for her. That while 99% of me just wants to blow raspberries at the dinner table with her and live a life of never-ending games, 1% of me knows that this isn't what is really the best thing for her. And that 1% is the "mommy percent," the part of me that will do what's best for her always and forever.

Now I understand . . . or at least I have a glimmer of understanding . . . that disciplining a child is a hard, hard, HARD thing to do. I was naive to think it would be an easy matter to raise a child to follow the rules. And though I love her and will do whatever I have to do to do what's best for her . . . I know now that my heart is going to break a million times over while I do it.

And I hope she knows, when she's grown, when she has kids of her own, when she has to draw her very first line with them, I hope in that moment she knows how much I wanted to blow raspberries back at her.