by Adam Naylor
My baby’s eyesight is still developing. In the light, she can distinguish between contrasting colors, but her vision is hazy and not very far-reaching. Certainly, in the night all is dark and unclear for her. Her lungs, however, seem to be fully formed.
The other night, she was having trouble sleeping. It was 2 a.m., everyone in the house was awake, and I had to be at work at 7 a.m. so I began to reason with her, this little baby: “Why are you still crying? Don’t you know you’re fine? Don’t you know…?” No, she doesn’t. How could she? All she knows right now is that she needs help, so she cries out in the hopes of receiving it. What a scary place to be.
Even so, I was thinking about myself, and, irrationally, I began to wonder if she was doing this on purpose to assert her position over her weak and teary-eyed parents. In a forty-minute window we tried three times to lay her down, and each time she began to scream as soon as her back brushed her bed. Her mom and I were exhausted, and I felt resentful of how easy our daughter’s life is compared to ours, and at how “selfish” she was being. Perhaps I was the selfish one. Her perspective is limited, and her world is uncertain: Am I safe? Am I alone? She has few other thoughts right now, and she needs answers.
Tonight, she screamed right in my ear as I adjusted her in my arms, and I was surprised by my response. I thought, “You can scream in my ear. You can affect me. I want to be that close and available to you.” In the same instant, it occurred to me – how many times have I screamed, “God, where are you!?” not considering He has been holding me as a father holds his child, that I have been screaming in His ear? My daughter unwittingly commissioned me to step up as her father, and helped me see that I am just like her. We come from the same stock. She didn’t need a lesson in reason, or even gratitude. All she needed was to know that we were with her.
As I walked around her nursery with her in the dark, she couldn’t see a thing. But I could see everything. I could see the Babybjörn and the farm animal playset. I could see the dresser and the crib and the chair and the armoire. Her parents can see in a space that for her is only darkness. She can scream in my ear because she is my daughter, and I am near to her. Ultimately, she has one foundational question right now: Are you with me? I don’t think the question ever changes as we grow, and the answer, I am with you, remains our greatest need and hope. And it is our only certainty, whether we can see it or not.
At Kardia Collective, we believe in the strength of vulnerability and connectedness, and that they go together. You have a story, and it is meant to be lived with others. We are here to meet with you in your story - to wrestle, grieve, celebrate and plan the next step. We would love to meet you!