Graceland

I don’t think anyone can deny that being a parent gives you new insight into your own parents, for better or worse. Sometimes, it’s wondering how a parent could possibly abandon one’s child, and sometimes it’s overwhelming sympathy for how a parent handled what you now realize was an incredibly difficult situation. I can’t believe I’m admitting that I’ve given more than a fleeting thought to Tom Brady and Gisele Bundchen, but I’d be lying if I said it doesn’t punch me right in the gut every time I see Gisele talking about Tom’s son, John, as if he were HER child, and look at pictures of him snuggled into her on the beaches of whatever tropical destination the family happens to be on at the moment. Because man, poor everyone, but my heart bleeds most for Bridget Moynahan, who, as the kid’s MOTHER, seems to be forgotten. And break-ups and step-parenting are hard enough without watching your child’s life when he’s not with you play out on the public stage.

My parents divorced when I was relatively young (about six or seven — I’m honestly not sure), and each of them remarried relatively quickly, to the people they are still married to, to this day. And though I am loath to say anything that could be construed as airing dirty family laundry here, I think we can all agree that things were rocky, at best, for a not-insignificant portion of my childhood and adolescence. Some of the resulting fallout was appropriate and understandable, and a lot of it was wildly inappropriate and awful, and frankly, it’s only in recent years that I’ve given myself a pass on feeling guilty for “causing” any of the hideousness. I was, I realized, only a kid after all, whereas they were ADULTS, you know? You know.

But now that I’m a parent, I see some things a little differently. I see how incredibly hard it must be to be put in a position to parent what is, essentially, someone else’s child, and that as much as you’d like to keep things equitable and even, blending a family is a daunting challenge, especially if you’re bringing your own children into the mix. It’s not really an adoption — the child is never really fully yours — but the expectation of love, devotion and treatment is there, and rightfully so, I suppose. And on the other hand, watching another woman or man raise YOUR child as if they were their own, right in front of your very eyes? Oh, my heart. I’d like to pretend I’d be able to be the bigger person and be happy that they were with someone who seems to love them, but I’m not sure my envy could be contained. Step-parent/child relationships are almost always challenging — I think that’s well within the range of normal — but still, it must take a superhuman effort to maintain propriety and positivity when your child — your CHILD — complains about the other parent/step-parent.

It’s all so complicated and hideous and oh, my poor parents. All four of them — all four of them, by the way, whom I love deeply and at this point equally, both biological and by marriage. They did their best under not unusual, but no less heartwrenching, circumstances. If there was any lingering bitterness, it fell away the moment I had Samantha. All is forgiven, if not forgotten, and my heart grew three sizes not just for my daughter, but for the people who raised me.

I have many reasons to hope that Adam and I maintain a happy, healthy marriage, and we’ve both worked hard at it, even — no, perhaps, especially — since bringing Sam into the mix. I know there’s a time when it’s better for everyone to walk away, but I also know that it’s harder on everyone when that happens. I wish for many things, but after the health and safety of our little family, this tops the list.

Introspection and depth, brought to you by … Tom Brady. Never saw that one coming.

On a lighter note, remember how I was all, “I AM NEVER DRESSING MY DAUGHTER IN PINK! DOWN WITH GIRLY CLOTHES!” Hey, you know, it turns out I pretty much lied, because I have since gotten over myself and realized that holy crap, girl clothes are freakin’ cute. What I will not do, however, is spend a lot of money on them, because dudes, do you have any idea how FAST kids grow out of shit? I love this kid more than life itself, but I think I’d be inclined to want to stab my own eyeballs out if I spent more than $15 for an outfit for her at this stage and that’s … on the high end. Carter’s outlets and I are BFF, is what I’m saying.

What I am also saying is that MAN, this kid is cute, and MAN, this outfit kills me.

The hooded vest! The fleece pants! THE HOODED VEST! HAHAHAHAHA.

Happy Wednesday, everyone.

*Paul Simon. Because the lyrics — hell, the whole ALBUM — is fitting.

27 comments September 22nd, 2009