What My Baby Son Could Teach Me

When you think of parents and children and teaching you normally think of parents teaching their children, not the other way around. But I reckon that my baby boy could teach me a few things. He is teaching me a few things. He’s teaching me patience and perseverance in a big way, how to be more efficient with ever-dwindling time resources and how to fall more in love than I ever thought I could.

 

But come to think of it, he’s not really a baby anymore, he’s a toddler because he’s taken his first steps and is exploring the world with ever greater confidence and ambition. It’s a delight to see, and I eagerly await the first words. As I watch him grow it’s like looking through a window at my infant-self, seeing what things were like that I have no memory of. Again, if we think of learning from ourselves, it’s normally an older self wanting to go back in time and instruct the younger self, but I want to turn that on its head. As I watch Ethan, what could the infant me teach the 30-year-old me if only that were possible?

 

Neither the me of 1987 nor Ethan now can articulate these things, nor even are they aware of some of them. But still, what are those things?

 

I see the simplicity of living in the here and now. No memory of yesterday, no worries for tomorrow. Just enjoying today, where you are now. That’s what Ethan does; it’s what I should do. I love memories and history, I love dreaming and planning for the future, but I think I do too much of each to the detriment of what’s in-between, what’s really important. I don’t want to rob my son of his time with me now by not being available, I don’t want to miss out on fully savouring and appreciating in thing in its due time. Less multi-tasking, less cramming; more focus, more simplicity.

 

I see an ability to take pleasure in simple things. Ethan enjoys his toys as much as the next boy, but frankly the really snazzy ones are a little wasted on him at the moment. He’s just as happy with cardboard boxes and tupperware, with cupboard doors and toilet rolls. He loves the simple things. He’s not wrapped up in a materialistic culture, he’s not chasing after big, abstract gratifications. I can learn from that. Stop chasing, break the cycle of wanting more, bigger, better. Learn to slow down and enjoy the simple things. The free things. The best things. His smile. Her touch. That landscape. Those words.

 

I see the love of being outdoors. Ethan loves the feel of sun and wind on his face, loves touching growing things and feeling new textures. He loves our garden and seems to really enjoy it when we take him to new places, whether it’s the bluebell wood we visited recently or the lake near our home. We live in an age when nature is under threat and when children see less of it than ever before, so I believe this love of the outdoors is more important than ever before. I’m so glad that I see Ethan developing this love, needing only an introduction from us. And it teaches me to do more of it, to reinforce the love of what I have in case I lose it. We should all do more of those things which bring us alive, and for me that means climbing mountains and walking through woodlands.

 

I see the joy of exploring new things. Ethan is willing to try pretty much anything, be it new foods, new people or new places. He’s not predisposed against anything or set in his ways. He’s still at that stage of life when very little is closed off to him. Of course, we keep him away from the hazards, but maybe I’ve lost a little of this joy along the way. Maybe I’ve become too comfortable, too habitual. For his sake as well as mine I want to explore new things.

 

I see a willingness to push boundaries. Ethan pushes himself, never content with the restrictions he currently faces. When he could sit he wanted to stand, when he stood he wanted to walk, now he walks he wants to run. He wants to explore those other rooms, find out what’s beyond the house, discover what else he can do. This might seem a contradiction to my first point, but somehow a hunger for new things doesn’t detract from his ability to enjoy each moment as it comes. Contentment with godliness is great gain, we’re taught (1 Timothy 6:6), but I think it’s possible to be content and yet keen to better ourselves. I will teach Ethan that, but also that the secret to betterment lies in surrender to another: Jesus.

 

I see a complete lack of prejudice. Ethan’s view of the world isn’t warped by misconceptions or closed off by the blinkers of past hurts. He’s ready to approach and befriend anyone, male or female, black or white, Christian or atheist. He doesn’t care who they are, he just accepts them at face value. In time he’ll learn from us and others how to put up healthy boundaries and make correct judgements, but I can learn from him a little more openness, a lot more friendliness.

 

I see a child-like faith. When he looks at me, I see complete, unwavering trust. He has no idea of my limitations, he just trusts me and Lucy to look after him. He doesn’t worry that we will fail or abandon him, he knows it will be all-right. It’s this child-like faith that made Jesus say ‘Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of heaven belongs to such as these.’ (Matthew 19:14). I need to trust God like Ethan trusts me.

 

So that’s what I think my baby son could teach me. Who knew there could be so much?