Just remember: everything is a phase. Everything is a phase – the mantra of parenthood. The last phase was pretty good, and decently long too. It was characterized by funny new words and cute phrases – Munchkin’s experimentation with languages – as well as the development of his first significant friendships. This new phase, which is full of threenage angst, can’t end soon enough.
Posts tagged ‘family’
Hope and denial – two powerful sides of the same coin. Until the very end, D held onto the slim possibility that he wouldn’t have to make the flight he knew, in the depth of his heart, was inevitable. As the weeks and months dragged on, it was possible to refuse to acknowledge his parents’ increasingly dire reports and to hope against hope that D’s grandma would hang on a few more months, that he would get to see her again this summer, that she’d live long enough to meet her third great-grandchild.
At first they don’t do much and you root for them to learn how to roll over, sit up, and crawl. And as soon as they do, you realize how good you had had it up until that point. Years fly by in a constant battle of wits as you try to stay one step ahead of your child’s curiosity and propensity to injure him- or herself. No matter how much you baby-proof the house, it’s a given that, even at one or two years old, your child will outsmart you and figure out how to inflict some self-damage. Three years into our so-called suicide watch with Munchkin, he’s just upped the ante.
“Why is it that every time we visit you something crazy happens?” mused D’s mom with a touch of fatalism. In Ecuador, where D served in the Peace Corps, protesters shut down the country’s major highway during D’s parents’ visit. Violent clashes between protesters and the police took place in a small town in the Amazonia quite literally minutes after D had turned the rental car around to head back to Quito. In Kenya, we also were forced into changing our travel plans on the fly during D’s parents’ visit when we came upon a roadblock and, predictably, angry protesters about to clash with the police. In Rwanda, on the other hand, our misadventures were entirely self-inflicted.
The weeks between our Namibian travels with S’s parents and the visit to Kigali of D’s parents passed by in a flash. No sooner had we settled back into our house and our jobs than it was time to snap out of our routine again. With S scheduled to travel to Pretoria for her 20-week antenatal appointment, we took advantage of D’s parents visit to organize a miniature baby-moon trip to South Africa.
This is a tumultuous time for S at the office. A few hours after Munchkin’s birthday party wrapped up, she was on the plane headed to DC for a weeklong conference. And while D did not appreciate being left to clean up the post-party mess, the week of quality father-son time alone with Munchkin easily made for it.
Following the shoreline north from Swakopmund, one enters the Skeleton Coast, which is rumored to be both desolate and wondrous. We cannot attest to either as we chose an inland route north, traversing Damaraland on the way to Etosha, Namibia’s premier game park. In addition to its indigenous tribes, which speak one of southern Africa’s clicking tongues, Damaraland is famous for its desert-adapted elephants, and it is in search of these that we made our way to the Doro!Nawas conservancy.
“Do you like rollercoasters?” our driver asked as he crested to the top of an impressive sand dune. “Yes!” we said in unison. “No!” protested S’s mom. “Oh shit!” added our toddler from the backseat as the car completed its slow, vertical descent and the driver gunned the engine to rocket up the next dune.