New West Baby

Rock Around the Clock

By Kelley Moen, 8-28-08

Time keeps on ticking

Symbols have immeasurable power.  They can dwarf the message of words in a single blow.  Yet they can be small and so efficient that even a high-resolution photograph can’t compete. 

The Olympics’ five rings, for example, would take pages to describe (and most recently 40 billion dollars, too!) Superman’s giant S emblazoned on his chest: a symbol that stands alone.  The cross: another symbol with magnificent and historic meaning.  Symbols infiltrate our lives, just look as you drive (or bike or walk) to work today: a green light, a red hexagon sign at the corner, and if you’re driving again, the yellow flashing indicator next to your gas gage on the dash!

We are surrounded by symbols.

If I were to pick one symbol to represent me, one symbol with the temerity to sum up my life as a new mom, it would be an easy choice: an alarm clock.

It wouldn’t be just any alarm clock.  It would be an old-fashioned, toaster-sized, wind-up clock with a big glass face and two very loud Mickey Mouse-ear bells perched on top. If this symbol had a sound, it would be the big second hand’s clap-clap-clap-clap, like a piano teacher’s intimidating metronome.

Time.  As a new parent, I am ruled by it.

We have bedtime, feeding-time, playtime, diaper-time, nap-time, burp-time, story-time, friend-time, daddy-time, even Grammie and Grampie-time.  We have quiet-time, active-time, outside-time and alone-time.  Every three hours we repeat: feed-time, play-time, sleep-time.

And whoa-is-me if I get the timing wrong!

I am not touting the fact that this alarm clock is my life right now.  I’m not super proud of it.  Time is a bully in America.

Exactly what is this thing we call “time” anyway? 

We use the word so frequently, so sloppily, in our culture.  As a noun, it’s a “timeline,” a “time warp,” a “time zone.” We have it in “free time,” “dinnertime,” “bedtime,” and of course “party time!” We own it, as in “my time”, “your time,” and “our time”. 

We can tell it, and share it and take it. 

We give time abilities that we don’t even posses: time can fly, time can disappear and time will tell.

In fact, there are zillions of famous musicians who write and sing about time. 

This washable, reusable, any-size-fits-all term we use and abuse must be exhausted!

When my husband and I attended a parenting class at the local hospital, I was mortified by the new concept of “time” with a baby.  Illusions of a slightly altered “non-baby” life, spiced up with the occasional and wonderfully peaceful bouts of baby-holding, were shattered when we did a group activity: to create a “schedule” of what we imagined life to be like with a new baby at home.

We gathered into small groups and began the project.  On a big, blank dry-erase board, we began jotting down a schedule, beginning at 5 a.m.  Five in the morning?!  Yep. This was a shock to me then, if you can believe it.  The day started out like this: 5 a.m. feed baby, 5:30 a.m. rock baby and burp baby, 6:00 a.m. hand baby to daddy and take a quick shower, 6:15 a.m. play with baby, 7:30 a.m. put baby down for a nap. 

“OK,” I thought, “I can handle this so far.”

But then came 9 a.m. feed baby, 9:30 a.m. rock and burp baby, 10:00 a.m play with baby and 10:30 nap-time. 

“This is sounding oddly familiar,” I was thinking. 

It didn’t end there.  In three-hour increments, this same schedule reappeared on our class board over and over until it was 7 p.m., day over, and time for bed!  An entire day had passed and I felt like it was a big rerun, a soundtrack stuck on repeat, the movie “Groundhog’s Day” revisited! 

Would life with a baby really be this regimented?  This repetitive?  Would this endless cycle of sameness own me, as the class suggested?

Quite honestly, I was mortified.  With a growing baby inside me, just two months from being born into the world, I was begging for another nine months just to get used to the idea of this new baby schedule I would soon face!

Now, after a few months with Charlie at home, I’m coming to terms with this new schedule. I’ll do anything for this little guy.  It just took a little getting used to.

Time, as I knew it, has changed.  Rocking my son, I try to think of the last occasion in my life when I just stopped, rocked in a chair while doing nothing productive and letting my mind wander and relax.  When did I last truly enjoy the moment, without thinking about the next thing on my agenda?

Isn’t this a paradox?  While ruled by time, I’ve come to know it, savor it, and appreciate it more than ever! 

All this has made me reconsider what I want to teach my child about “time”.  Is it something to use wisely?  Is it something to spend or save or give?  Is “time”, this worn-out word we use so much, really all it’s cracked up to be?  Should it have all the power we grant it?

Values to consider. 

Although Charlie’s schedule has changed and will continue to evolve over the course of his childhood, I feel ready to throw out my symbolic icon.  The alarm clock, as we know it, has got to go.

Instead, while he drifts off in my arms ready for yet another nap, just give me the fabulous clockwork of my son’s heart and lungs.  It’s the one true metronome that should rule.

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