Every baby book I've ever seen is pretty consistent in what they regard as a significant milestone: Baby's first smile. Baby's first giggle. First words, first steps.
But of course what every parent, grandparent, aunt, uncle, big brother or sister knows is that while those lists are nice and all, they're also pretty inadequate. Know what milestone I'll always cherish? When my oldest son happily shouted in a quiet restaurant that he had just made "pee pee in the potty!" after successfully doing so for the very first time. I've never found a mention of that in any baby book. So strange.
And this Sunday will bring another of these proud and happy moments which often go overlooked unless you’re the one living it: my younger son’s first Super Bowl. Like all of these other wonderful moments, it’s bound to be something I will never forget. And that he will never remember.
I’m a big football fan. And naturally I love sharing the things I’m passionate about -- football, cooking, avoiding laundry detail -- with my children, even if they’re too young to really understand any of it -- though their grasp of the laundry thing has been impressive so far.
My youngest son is three months old, so he hardly understands what his fingers are, let alone the Super Bowl. But that won’t stop me from propping him up on my lap Sunday night and whispering to him about how the two teams on the field are really good and that the winner gets a bright, shiny trophy. I’ll hold each of his teeny hands across his lap and then laugh and help him clap when someone makes a great play.
At some point there will be a diaper change intermission, a feeding followed by some solid burping (appropriately macho given the occasion) and a few more moments of first half action before bedtime.
At least, that’s how I plan it. But plans are for people without small children.
I know this because I had a nearly identical, heavily romanticized vision of how my older son and I would watch his first Super Bowl. That night, however, ended up largely being spent watching the game in darkness, on an old, 13-inch TV outside his room because he was groaning and having trouble sleeping.
I stayed close enough to his room to make sure I could hear that he was okay, but just far enough that I wouldn’t disturb him with the sound of the game. The Super Bowl with the volume down? Now that, football fans, is sacrificing for your children.
There was no gentle whispering of basic football rules, no sweet hand holding, no transcendent Dad-of-the-Year type bonding experience. The only thing I bonded with that night was half a roast beef sub, then my pillow. The one thing, though, that did meet expectations? It was a milestone I won’t soon forget. Even if my son never remembers it.
All of which kind of lowers the stakes for Sunday night and Baby’s First Super Bowl 2.0. Maybe it goes really well and the whole family gets to hang out, eat some irresponsibly unhealthy food and play with the baby. Or maybe the baby sleeps through the first quarter, the cable goes out in the second quarter and the kids are packing it in for bed long before Madonna ever takes the halftime stage.
It doesn’t really matter. Because this time I know it’s not how these milestones happen that counts. It’s that they happen at all. And that even if there’s no baby book in which to officially record the memory, you’ll never need it because you’ll never forget it.
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