Monday, March 10, 2014

Being Held on the Rollercoaster Ride

My wife and I are flying from Oakland to Tampa, Fl with our sixteen month old son, Sam. Some details.

He sits on my lap and gazes into my eyes chuckling "Dad." He becomes restless and wants Mommy. He nurses and after his alternating nursing and saying "done" several times my wife is done with the game and Sam is pissed off. Redirecting time. "Choo Choo." "Choo Choo." Out comes his trains and mommy and Daddy are the track. After a few minutes of this the train goes flinging into the aisle. We retrieve and try again. Into the aisle again and so we put the train away for now. Sam wailing "more, more." We try a redirect and it doesn't work. Mommy tries soothing. Not happening. Time for a walk down the aisle. He's beaming and laughing. He falls. He gets up again. He says hi to a few people and falls again. He's crying. I pick him up and this is when it gets tricky. It's borderline between being upset at falling and at being picked up. Do I soothe by holding him or by letting him walk again? I hold him for a minute and let him walk again.

The plane is on it's descent and the air pressure is hurting Sam's ears. We know nursing helps but he's also teething, and that's causing him pain right now too so he doesn't want to nurse. Torture, helplessness. Our baby is in pain. We're trying to help him but it's not working. We break out the train. Doesn't work. We get a book out. Doesn't work. Oh pure torture. Finally some duck peekaboo. Bingo. Aaaah. Thank the heavens. We land.

There is so much that can happen on a flight with a sixteen month old. It is such an exercise in letting go and being present. Reacting in the moment and moving on. You're in one very small place for an extended time and the only thing that you can control is giving up control and being in the moment. During each of these moments on the flight there was an undercurrent of wanting some control. "Is he going to try to crawl into the aisle." "Will we be able to soothe him." "Is he going to fall." "Is he going to be ok." "What does that person think of the train in the aisle?"

My wife and I aren't perfect. We aren't always present with Sam. But this is our intention. Life is hard. Human beings often aren't present because of this. We don't want to experience the rollercoaster of joy and pain, the unknown of any given moment. We find ways to have more control, to live the middle ground. It's in the rollercoaster ride where we are safest, and when others are present with us on that rollercoaster ride. I have an image of a rollercoaster going up and down, around bends, upside down. But all through this journey there's also a straight line. This straight line can't be seen but it's felt in the heart and the soul, and it's a consistent feeling of being held. This is what we want for Sam.

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