Tuesday, August 21, 2012

embrace change

my daughter has braces.

they're pink and yellow, and apparently they look like something worn by katy perry in some music video.

maybe so. i don't know.

to me they look like a future where time passes at an exponentially accelerating rate, and i'm helpless to do anything but watch as it races past.

this feeling doesn't suit me, so i'll not dwell on it beyond these few words.

just a couple years ago, it seems, this child was born to much fanfare, within the limited scope of our little family. hers was not a routine birth, in that when she was born she wasn't breathing. i remember, in the aftermath, the doctor saying something about a reaction to the pain meds mrs. spaceneedl was given during labor.

but in the moment, all i recall is the girl being snatched away by the nurse, multiple people hovering over her, a bag-valve mask, and someone saying loudly, "breathe, baby, breathe."

the missus and i both began crying at that point.

i remember a needle and an injection and then the girl was crying, too. i remember this like it was yesterday, even though it was almost a dozen years ago.

the time in between has passed in the blink of an eye. in the interim, this child has been fearless and ferocious and full of joie de vivre. hardly a day goes by that i don't quietly shake my head in amazement and avert my eyes  so as not to give away how easily i might be folded and spindled to her every whim.

she goes off to middle school in a couple weeks. i remember how i scoffed at the orientation meeting when the boy started middle school. "this is going to be a tough transition for you parents," they said. "you won't recognize your child, or his behavior, sometimes. but you'll get through it."

yes, it was tough. it still is, even as the boy gears up to start high school. i don't look forward to a similar transition with the girl.

in the meantime, she has braces. eventually the incisor that sticks out at a familiar, endearing little angle will fall into alignment and look like someone's idea of perfection.

me...i liked it the way it was.


Molly said...

Please write a book. You are a beautiful writer.

spaceneedl said...

thank you, molly. very kind. i'll get right on it.

John Morelock said...

This as I text back and forth with a daughter trying to cope with approaching her fiftieth. They never become adults; always children.

Nice writing, wonderful story unfolding.

spaceneedl said...

thank you, john. this one is still in braces. for a while longer, anyway...