Captain of the Changing Table
Some day in the future, I plan to be very intimately involved in the raising of my son. I shall teach him how to ride a bike and how to read. (No, I mean how to read.) I will discuss with him how to raise a family and what to look for in a wife, the importance of preparing to be a provider from an early age, the joys of duty and responsibility. But for now, the days of early infancy are primarily a mother’s realm. No matter how beautiful the baby, it takes a mother’s heart to truly cherish a child who only wants and never learns – who is a bundle only of needs.
To love and coo and long for this experience is beyond me, but Valerie does it, and every woman I meet seems to wish to aid her. As for me, I cannot feed him at the breast, and to see him in a perfect little outfit that is just so cute stirs no excitement in me. What joys I have in the duties of infant childhood parenting I perceive through the lens of my wife. She loves this time and in it feels that overwhelming mother-love for her son, and through her, I feel these things too. But in all honesty, there is little of the parenting at this age that is truly mine to do.
There is one capacity, however, that I can be fully vested in: the changing table. I am captain of the changing table. When David wakes in the middle of the night, I can’t feed him, so I don’t stay up all and lose hours of sleep every night. But in the middle of every feeding, there is a procedure that involves getting up from the bed. Valerie leans over and wakes me (which is fortunately easy – I have the felicity of being immune to baby cries, but very sensitive to my name); I get up, fetching her a glass of water, and take from her the baby. I carry him into the other room, make all the adjustments, and bring him back, ready for his second helping. This happens 2-3 times per night, at most 10 minutes lost of sleep. For me, nothing, but everything gained for my wife.
My captaincy ends around 6:30 in the morning, when I leave the house to go to work. At 3:00 (uh, 4:00? 4:30?), I come home and resume my stake. On the weekends, of course, my role never ceases. It is an exceedingly small burden for me since, with today’s technology, wet diapers are not so much wet as surprisingly heavy; breastfed babies also have the advantage that their waste is actually not all that unpleasant to smell (It’s about the equivalent of a strong cheese), and our son seems to be uh, blessed, with very infrequent bowel movements anyway.
Of course I also am still at home in my own house and know how to cook and clean, and a greater responsibility in these areas has fallen on me. Occasionally I am also viceroy of the bathtub and lieutenant of tummy time, but from my perspective, my contribution is almost nothing. Yet my wife says what I do is such a great relief to her that I continually earn her gratitude. This is a good thing, because in my mind every service I perform for our son is first and foremost a gift to her, and every complaint a cry of concern for her wellbeing.
Obscure for those outside the nerd world:
I say hyphenation is cheating
Kyle, this is incredible! I am blown away. Very profound and thought provoking. I wish you the best and I know you will serve our country well. God bless you and your family.
All I can say is what the Lord once said to me — I know that’s very subjective.
But I once spent a great deal of time repenting of my feelings. I considered my feelings the TRUE expression of me. Once in the midst of such a repentence, The Lord broke in and said. That’s not who you are — it’s just how you feel
Similiar thing happened when we first moved to Tulsa. I was simply contemplating my last few months working with children in Lawton; ruminating on the adage that you can’t fool a child. Thinking, yes, you can. I fooled them every week. I didn’t love them but they thought I did. Again, I was interrupted when the Lord said, that was love. Love isn’t a warm fuzzy feeling — it’s what you do and you LOVED those children for me.
One of the most powerful teachings I have hung onto through the years came from a converted Jewish woman whose name I have forgotten. She was the speaker at a retreat I went to when we first moved to Lawton. The series of messages was Obedience: Squeals, Squawks and the deluxe combo. Squealing obedience was when what we’re given to do is exactly what we want to do and we squeal with joy. Squawking obedience is the opposite. And the dexlue combo are those situations that begin either squeaking or squawking and then the experiences reverses itself. The point she made over and over again was that if we obeyed regardless of our feelings [squawking] The Lord would write in His book _________obeyed me, one more time.
I think feelings matter but I don’t find evidence God is judging us by them. He is moved by the feelings of our infirmities.
Side bar — but we all have ways we used to “fix” ourselves when our feelings begin to overwhelm us – my pesonal favorite is worship. Which anyone can do driving down the road. Lenghty devotions are not the only solution. Kerry uses worship and also has a wonderful testimony of using just giving thanks.
How in the world are you having time to listen to so many messages and post reviews in the afternoon? Are you leading a double life? I am jealous, I never have that kind of time with my work…
I think the poem is spot-on, having lived on an anvil of late. Thanks for transcribing it! Hope I get a semi-noble part.
I don’t have time to read any more. But I have plenty of time to listen. In due deference though, I didn’t transcribe it. The lovely folks at Dave Harvey’s church sent me a copy when they wrote back to me.
I did put in the proper line breaks, tho’.
It seems there were only the two entrants. So who won?
Hope everything’s ok. Our prayers are with you guys.
When is his appointment with a neuro?
Dang! What would a person do with nearly 9 gallons of mince meat?!
I do happen to like mince meat pie, though my tastes are probably off since I’m used to the store bought stuff. Still, 9 gallons…
Blegh. I remember what happened the last time mincemeat was consumed in our family.
MMM, that does sound good. Next time you cook up a batch send me a couple of cans
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