By Tim King
Special to the Leader
The big stories last week centered on two things – winter storms and New Year’s babies.
On Jan. 1, every newscast in the northeast had a story about the first baby born in Portland, in Boston, in Maine, in North America, etc. Likewise, more than half of the evening news was focused on the weather – when will it start to snow, when will it stop, how much snow will we get?
You wouldn’t think that these two things are related, but actually the things you do before a snowstorm are a lot like preparing for a new baby. Thanks to early forecasting tools such as doppler radar and sonograms, both storms and babies can be predicted with pretty good accuracy.
Obviously, the timeframe leading up to a storm and the birth of a newborn are dramatically different. A storm can develop over just a few days or weeks while babies need several months before they are ready to enter our world.
Although the actual duration may be different, people actually do a lot of the very same things before, during and after a winter storm or pregnancy. Preparation for both events includes an intense build up of speculation, anticipation, uncertainty, excitement and fear. For many of us though, this was not always the case.
During college, snowstorms simply meant that classes were canceled and impromptu “storm parties” would quickly materialize throughout campus. The most pressing concern was often how to get our hands on cafeteria trays to use as sleds or finding a car to make it to the Shell Station for supplies (pizza, beer, etc.) Ignorance truly was bliss. Storms were fun.
But growing up changes things. I think the first time you have to prepare for a nor’easter so that you can get to work or keep your family safe is a right of passage here in New England.
I can still remember calling my parents from the road one winter on my way to my first job. I had already been in the car for an hour and had gone nowhere fast. As I drove 10 mph on the Mass Pike that stormy morning all I could say to my dad was, “I hate being a grown up.”
I had just heard on the radio that all classes had been cancelled at the very school I had graduated from a few months earlier. No more parties. Goodbye ignorance, hello frustration.
No mater how prepared we think we are, Mother Nature always seems to throw a monkey wrench into things. There is nothing more aggravating then finding out that you’ve prepared for one thing only to let another important detail slip through the cracks. Forgetting windshield washer fluid or stockpiling cans of food only to realize you only have an electric can opener.
The same is true when preparing for a new baby’s arrival. Sure, you might have a closet full of tiny, brightly colored, coordinating outfits for your newborn, only to find that you don’t have a thermometer or Motrin at 2 a.m. when the first fever hits.
Either way, there is no denying the excitement leading up to the big day. Everything you do suddenly has a greater purpose to it – do I need to go to the grocery store today or tomorrow, is there enough gas in the car, is my cell phone charged?
Then, when the big day finally comes, we’re still frantically trying to get everything done. There must be something more we can do, right? What have we forgotten? But all we can do is watch and wait.
Eventually, a tiny rustling begins. At first, it’s hardly noticeable. Perhaps the last few remaining oak leaves begin to gently flutter in the breeze. Soon, the first few snow flakes fall from the sky. To me, this time is similar to the first small, fluttering contractions that signal the beginning of labor.
Then, depending on the storm, or the child, the next stages will vary tremendously. Sometimes it will develop slowly, quietly and peacefully. Sometimes it rages immediately into a wild, swirling ball of energy. Sometimes it can be calm and comforting and sometimes it screams into your ear and hurts.
And, just like childbirth, some storms can seem to last for an eternity and some are over before you know it. Storms and childbirth also remind us of our own mortality and put us face to face with the notion that there are some things that really are entirely out of our control.
Like a newborn baby, snowflakes are beautiful in their simplicity. And, even though they both come from the exact same place (parents or clouds), no two are exactly the same, ever.
Finally, when the storm is over or the baby is born, there is a moment of silence when we relax and realize that we made it through OK. We feel empowered by having faced the unknown and inspired by having survived it. It’s important to seek out and embrace this silence when it comes. Reflect on what has occurred and all that could have gone wrong but didn’t.
Thoreau wrote, “I have met no companion that is as companionable as solitude.” Finding the calm after the storm will help you get through the next one. The day following a terrible storm is often filled with clear blue skies and sunshine as high pressure moves in to push out the turbulence of the day before.
Likewise, after a baby is born (hopefully) you are in a hospital, surrounded by doctors and nurses who are trained and fully dedicated to taking care of you and your baby. New parents can relax knowing that everything is being taken care of for them.
For a few short hours or days, all seems calm and right. Then, after the storm is over, you leave the safety and sanctuary of your home or hospital and head back out into the real world.
Suddenly every road seems a little trickier to navigate now. Streets are slippery with ice and snow, the spray from the road makes it difficult to see and everyone seems to be moving in slow motion. Overnight, routine errands and simple activities such as walking on the sidewalk, have become a challenge – just like the first days of being a new parent.
Remember your first trip outside with your baby, giving him/her their first bath, or taking the first car trip? I sure do. The thing is, I don’t remember the 11th or the 43rd time very much at all.
After a while, you just do it. Most of us eventually figure out how to survive winter in New England just as most of us figure out how to take care of a baby. What’s more, both seem to get a little easier to handle with age and experience.
No matter where we go or who we are, both storms and children will always be a part of our lives – albeit with varying degrees of intensity. I’ve heard from my brother-in-law that the season called “the teen years” can be an especially challenging time.
I hope to someday face that season just like I prepare for a nor’easter today – not as an opponent that can be conquered, but as a challenge that will eventually, in some little way, make me a better person.
Who knows, maybe “the teen years” will end up being mild for us…with the inevitable storms being few and far between.
But I guess we’ll just have to wait and see. Even the “Old Farmer’s Almanac” knows better than to try and predict more than one year at a time.
Tim King is a freelance writer who sees the forest and the trees from his home in Scarborough. He can be reached at sylvan.sauntering@gmail.com