The Chasm
Babies are boring. Before becoming a parent, I would have never uttered those words. Back when I was still wrapped in a blissful blanket of ignorance, I thought babies were cute and entertaining after playing 5 minutes of peek-a-boo, which was the full extent of my baby exposure. I peered into their eyes, sure that I could glimpse the meaning of life in their pupils. I enthusiastically retrieved their toys as they tossed them to the floor, conducting their glorious experiments with gravity.
Before the birth of my son, I was full of judgment when I observed parents interacting with their children. I’d see the parent rushing towards their destination, caught in a downward spiral of frustration, seemingly oblivious to the sacred gift of being in the presence of their child. I would think to myself; This moment is fleeting! Cherish this magical time!
I was certain that I’d be adept at entering the baby world of curiosity and wonder. I had played with kids in the past and considered myself fluent in the languages of imaginative play and goof. Thanks to the consumption of copious amounts of marijuana and psilocybin in my twenties, I felt confident in my capacity to see the world through the eyes of a child. I’ve peered endlessly into the inner workings of flowers and relished the feeling of sand slipping through my fingertips. I’ve spent hours gazing into the clouds and launching handfuls of pebbles into ponds, captivated by the widening ripples. I thought hanging out with a baby would be like consuming a gram of mushrooms and attuning to the oneness of creation.
Before becoming a parent, I hadn’t experienced the sensation of boredom in nearly a decade. I was adept at turning a DMV appointment into bonus reading time, or utilizing traffic jams to do breathing exercises. I had survived Vipassana, where I spent 10 days in silence, focusing on my breath and the sensations in my body. I incorrectly assumed it would be the pinnacle of boredom in this lifetime.
Once I became a full-time stay-at-home parent within the context of a COVID lockdown, I was blindsided by an 18 wheeler of boredom. Even as an introvert, I came to crave any kind of engagement from the tiny human in my care. The best I could hope for on most days was a grunt of approval or brief eye contact that conveys satisfaction. My worst discovery was the chasm between the adult brain’s desire for novelty, and the child’s incessant need for repetition.
After reading the same books literally hundreds of times, I exhausted every conceivable idea for making them interesting. I translated them into Spanish and Portuguese. I read them in every accent I could imitate from around the world. I performed them in invented languages of gibberish. I sang the lyrics to my favorite 90’s R&B songs while turning the pages. At a certain point, my creative well evaporated, and I entered a portal of doom every time my son reached for “Carl’s Afternoon in the Park.” How can he possibly still be interested in this story!?
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In observing my son, I have fleeting moments in which I realize how magical it is that I get to spend almost every waking moment with him. When he first began talking to himself and engaging in imaginative play I marveled at the transformation that was taking place in his mind. When we cuddled underneath a sheet that we had turned into an elephant on our living room floor, I thought that life couldn’t possibly be sweeter. I thought, This moment is absolutely perfect. May I soak up this magic and never forget it.
10 seconds later, he is demanding that I read “Goodnight Moon” for the tenth time today. I am eyeing the clock and dreading how many more hours must pass before I am relieved of duty and can go be alone in the other room. I know in my logical mind that these moments are to be treasured, and yet I don't have the discipline or the endurance to maintain gratitude for more than a few moments. What’s most frustrating is that I’m never able to relax into a passive state - this is challenging boredom. Sitting on a couch and doing nothing would be a glorious retreat. Sitting on the couch while ensuring Taishan doesn't stab himself in the eye with a pencil or draw on the wall with Crayons is an absurd test of my capacity to stay present.
The whole point of Vipassana meditation is to accept reality as it is. After spending several years in my baby-boot-camp-lockdown reality, I am saddened to say that in my reality, babies are boring.
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For a musical exploration of boredom, listen to ‘Boring People’ by clicking the image below .
“My body is sacred, and I crave,
To copy and paste it on the page
My hobbies are adjacent to my age
I should probably start facing mortality and pray
I am thankful and I savor what I taste
This landscape God was able to create,
They say that she made it in a day
It’s the least I could do to just stay entertained”