I've written recently about privilege in the sense of having unfair access to capital whether it be cultural, social or just good old money capital. That kind of privilege is usually unearned but there is another kind of privilege which is paid for or otherwise achieved. When I feel particularly careworn by the burden and responsibilities of child rearing I am quick to give myself a pinch and remember what an awesome privilege it is to be a parent.
It is modish at the moment for those that commentate on having children to exaggerate or otherwise focus on the trials and tribulations attendant upon trying to keep a child alive and prepared for the living hellscape that is the world of the twenty teens. Whether it is the expressive stick mother of Hurrah For Gin or the unvarnished truth of the Scummy Mummies you don't have to look far to find a parent to tell you how awful it all is.
I don't intend this as some kind of saccharine antidote by pretending that parenting is all teddy bears, blowing bubbles and nursery rhymes in gingham dresses. Anyone who has ever met a child will know the truth. However I do think that in a society where many long in private anguish for a baby that it is worth remembering from time to time what immense good fortune it is to have a child to parent.
Socrates observed that the unexamined life is not worth living and there is truly no greater examination in life than being a parent (and I've sat Oxford Finals). And therein lies the real privilege of parenting. As you reach out to mould this new life you find yourself considering the contours of your own and the forces and experiences that shaped them.
I've previously written that I don't believe you can ever fully experience gratitude for your own parents until you yourself have become one. Equally I'm not sure you can fully explore what made you until you engage in the terrifying task of making someone else. Day by day, year by year, as your child grows you are able to bear witness to the fruits of your investment in your child. If you are a creative person you can point to your buildings, paintings, songs or sculptures to show your progress over time but even the genius of the Sistine Chapel or the St Matthew Passion remain products fixed in time, examples of arrested development.
A child takes what you give it and makes it its own, something more, ever changing. It is common for parents to lament the passing of their child's babyhood; I think this reflects a wholly understandable human desire for simplicity, innocence and (frankly) control. Childhood and the vexing chrysalis of adolescence are all anxious steps to the garden gate but beyond lies the wide world and all the pleasure and pain of watching your child making her way.
I'm not one for counting my blessings and even if I was it wouldn't take me very long to count to one.
