I’m old enough now to know better. I understand that in my life-time, I will not see a cure for cancer, a diet that enables folks to lose weight and keep it off, and a sure-fire way to get babies to sleep through the night. With no disrespect to John Lennon, I also don’t imagine world peace any time soon.
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Babies – goggle eyed and chubby cheeked – were made adorable for a reason: so that their mothers would pick them up (even at 3 in the morning) and fall in love with them. The good doctor (Spock) who was blamed for the excesses of the Sixties generation, actually had very good child-rearing advice. His basic message was that new mothers should trust their own instincts, should listen to their inner selves. Stop worrying so much, he advised.
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One Christmas my writer husband gave the girls a gift of their own pasts. He went through his old journals and made copies of the entries describing their births, then stories of them as babies and toddlers; he had written down the adorable things they said; he described sending them off the first day of school. Then he copied photos to go along with some of the entries, making a Megan Book and a Katie Book.
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My mother was a truth-teller. Her name was Ruth and she occasionally would scribble a note on a pad with the inscription across the top: The Truth from Ruth.
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