Man's Inhumanity To Man, or Milo and The Big Plastic Rattle
A few weeks ago Milo started grabbing anything within reach. He was totally entranced by the concept that he could reach for something, wrap his little fingers around it and, no fucking way, hold it! Three days ago Milo discovered that once he has a good grip on an object he also has the ability to smash said object rapidly up and down and in assorted directions, which was cute and funny until he smashed his big plastic triangle rattle into his head.
He was sitting on my lap when it happened, and I watched him do it, knowing the rattle was sooner or later going to make contact with his huge head, thinking irrationally that as a human being he would of course intuitively understand that when one smashes things into one's own head it hurts.
And yet.
The moment after he hit himself in the head there was stunned silence, that truly horrible but also slightly funny moment that babies have when they're sucking in as much air as possible so they can unleash the mother of all screams. So I watched as Milo turned bright red, opened his mouth wide, and paused for a second before letting me and all the world know just how much it hurt to smash a big plastic triangle into your own head.
A few moments later he was fine, ready to pick up the rattle again and begin the process anew of flinging it around. But me, I wasn't fine. I felt sad. Because up until that moment, Milo had never been capable of hurting himself. Up until that moment, as far as he knew, things rarely hurt. He had been living in a world without pain. Or at least, without self-inflicted pain.
Of course, I understand that he needs to smash himself in the face with a rattle a few times in order to understand why we don't all walk around smashing ourselves in the face, that he needs to experience pain in order to learn about the world, that this, the chorus of Jewish mothers in my life will say, should be the worst thing that ever happens to him. But I guess it makes me realize that this is the first in a long series of sad or painful things that will hapen to Milo. That he smiles all the time and thinks that the world is an amazing place because he has yet to discover that not only can he smash himself in the head, but that other people can, and will, smash him in the head. That the world is in fact full of head smashing.
And yet, three days later, Milo is still as happy as ever. I'm sure he's long forgotten about the painful possibilities of the rattle. Or maybe he's just a happy guy. Maybe he's just going to continue to be a happy guy forever on.
Steven and I were discussing this possibility last night, that two crabby, cynical people might have produced a genuinely happy person. And we marvelled and shuddered at the prospect. How on earth would we parent a happy boy?
He was sitting on my lap when it happened, and I watched him do it, knowing the rattle was sooner or later going to make contact with his huge head, thinking irrationally that as a human being he would of course intuitively understand that when one smashes things into one's own head it hurts.
And yet.
The moment after he hit himself in the head there was stunned silence, that truly horrible but also slightly funny moment that babies have when they're sucking in as much air as possible so they can unleash the mother of all screams. So I watched as Milo turned bright red, opened his mouth wide, and paused for a second before letting me and all the world know just how much it hurt to smash a big plastic triangle into your own head.
A few moments later he was fine, ready to pick up the rattle again and begin the process anew of flinging it around. But me, I wasn't fine. I felt sad. Because up until that moment, Milo had never been capable of hurting himself. Up until that moment, as far as he knew, things rarely hurt. He had been living in a world without pain. Or at least, without self-inflicted pain.
Of course, I understand that he needs to smash himself in the face with a rattle a few times in order to understand why we don't all walk around smashing ourselves in the face, that he needs to experience pain in order to learn about the world, that this, the chorus of Jewish mothers in my life will say, should be the worst thing that ever happens to him. But I guess it makes me realize that this is the first in a long series of sad or painful things that will hapen to Milo. That he smiles all the time and thinks that the world is an amazing place because he has yet to discover that not only can he smash himself in the head, but that other people can, and will, smash him in the head. That the world is in fact full of head smashing.
And yet, three days later, Milo is still as happy as ever. I'm sure he's long forgotten about the painful possibilities of the rattle. Or maybe he's just a happy guy. Maybe he's just going to continue to be a happy guy forever on.
Steven and I were discussing this possibility last night, that two crabby, cynical people might have produced a genuinely happy person. And we marvelled and shuddered at the prospect. How on earth would we parent a happy boy?
posted by Hana @ 9:07 AM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home