Discomfort seems to be part of parenting. It’s not necessarily an everyday occurrence, but it recurs over and over. Like static on a television, the signal goes in and out and we endure the noise over the picture. To top it off, we have all the fun problems we had before. Trying to get rest, keep up with friends, look less homeless — we hold on to these small bits of ourselves, thinking maybe we’ll get to keep some of them after all.
A few months back, my wife got a haircut she didn’t like. It was drastic enough that it will take some time to grow back out. Now, I think she looks beautiful no matter what, but she’s been fighting her own feelings about it. But the interesting thing is all her hardship will be measured against this one physically overwhelming moment: birth. For me, birth marked the boundary on which everything else will be measured, too. Just not necessarily based in physical pain condensed into a moment. It’s the concept of After Birth and Before Birth. I started a new infancy when my infant sons arrived.
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