Part 3: The Rainbow

I read a truism the other day about parenting: there's no learning curve. Just when you've mastered one skill and are eager to do a happy dance, your baby's moved on to another stage. And the next kid will probably be so different from the first, many of the techniques you've mastered now won't amount to, as they say, a "hill of beans."

So, there I was on our road trip, practically juggling bananas to keep Rain from having a meltdown. I'm singing to her from the driver's seat, promising her a 100 times, "We're almost there." The first night I was in town, I had a friend stay over my hotel room. Another night, I shared a large room with my brother's family in a different hotel (we stayed in a room by ourselves the last 2 nights). Each time I did whatever it took for Rain to stay quiet. I pulled out all my tricks--singing, making funny faces/weird noises, short walks, constant feedings (a bad habit to start, by the way)--to keep her happy.

Eventually, none of them worked. The truth was, Rain probably wanted to go back to routine at night: bath time with daddy, cuddles with daddy or mommy, down a bottle, and into the crib. She's all about consistency, but Life can be unpredictable, and that's where the trouble is. I guess what I'm saying is, there were points on the trip, at the height of frustration, where I felt like telling Rain, "Why can't you be like other babies? Try taking long naps, being somewhat amused in your crib, and ignoring a dirty diaper every once in a while!" She's just so not ... flexible. Uncomfortably like me, I suppose.

And then, as is often the case in my short tenure as a parent, when all seemed dark and hopeless, there a rainbow appeared. We decided to visit an aquarium on a whim. As we passed tank after tank of sea life that were--as Grandma put it--painted with God's brush, Rain was captivated. She stared with her trademark furrowed brow, and if she'd had a notebook, might've taken notes as well. She was happy. Her buzzing brain finally had something new to hum about. I made sure to stay longest at the tanks she seemed most interested in, and together we toured the whole place. We were doing something together. It wasn't me doing something to entertain her or busying her with one hand while I got errands done with the other; we were doing something together. I talked to her about the eels, seahorses, and turtles see was seeing for the first time (and the sting ray--debarbed, of course--I touched for the first time), and she just looked on with eyes wide.

My baby may not be easy, but she's mine.

Rain respected my epiphany and kindly withheld dirty diapers until the end of the tour.