Step One

Almost every day, I report to Mr. Squire what I fed his child that day.  On the good days, I triumphantly report that I was "good to Junior" and fed him a long list of nutritious foods:  bananas (which I suddenly love), string cheese, whole-wheat toast, soy milk, cauliflower, and some OJ that I snuck in (even though I'm supposed to be avoiding juices).  On the bad days, I repent over my bad behavior (empty calories, the one piece of sushi that I couldn't resist, snacking instead of eating real meals) and vow to do better the next day.  

This is essentially what I think about every day:  what am I going to eat today? And how do I balance what I want to eat (i.e. how I've managed my own diet for the last ten years) versus what I'm supposed to eat, since what I eat no longer affects just me? 

I tend to guess that God must have known something about the inherent selfishness of women that caused Him to choose women to be the bearers of children.  I feel like pregnancy is this nine-month period when God is forcing me to think--all the time--about someone besides myself.  Food is a big deal for me, and I have lost autonomy over my diet for the sake of another.  Of course, I occasionally think to myself that after pregnancy and the breastfeeding is over (for this child, and then for the next, should God grant us another), then I can go back to my me-centric diet (in which carbs of all sorts play a major role, and protein makes only guest appearances) for the rest of my life. Freedom!  ... Except not. 

I'm realizing upon further reflection (and I reflect on this a lot) that this is just the beginning.  Learning to cede my freedom surrounding food because of the impact of my choices on my child is just Step One of a staircase that is dizzyingly long.  And steep.  And high.  This food thing is temporary, but it is a small and tangible reflection of things to come:  everything I do is going to have a potential impact on my child.  

So forget about food choices.  Choices about how I spend my time, who I spend my time with, how much I work, the nature of my work, how long I work, how I speak, whether I choose to complain, whether I choose to argue, whether I choose to hold a grudge, whether I choose to forgive, the words I use, how I use the words, how I use my free time, the extent to which I create space for free time, where we live, how we live, who are friends are, who we serve, how we serve, when we serve, how I pray, when I pray, what I pray about, how we spend, on what we spend, whether we worry about spending, how we save or don't save, the things we choose to nurture and the things we choose not to emphasize.... all of those things are going to come into play.  And each decision is going to rub hard against my inherently selfish nature.  Food is only the beginning.

I guess this is (part of) why people say that parenting is a sanctifying process.  It's one process (among many) that God uses to scrape away at our hard edges and make us more like Himself.  I know people are all excited about this parenting thing, and I too am starting to get excited about it.  But I also have a very healthy fear about it:   It's not going to be easy.  In fact, it is going to be very difficult.  And painful.  And full of repenting days.  Truly, Lord help us.