13 Aug

When I was a child, snowglobes captured my imagination.  Though the figures inside may have been lifeless plastic, in my mind they were real people.  I could hear the children giggling as they slid down a snowy hill in the tiniest toboggan you would ever see.  Their parents would call to them over a white picket fence from the front porch of a perfect home. Through the windows you could see a delicious holiday meal; the scent of baked turkey floating through the air.

Suddenly, at the tip of my hand, a flurry of snow would threaten the happy scene.  Surely they would be frightened at the blizzard that endangered their happy holiday.  I would watch intently to gauge their reaction… To my amazement, they would always weather the storm with profound grace, regardless of its intensity.

My admiration for the pocket-size people grew with each moment of observation.  As they became more and more real in my imagination, I began to ask questions.  Could they hear me speaking as a gazed through the glassy dome that separated my world from theirs?  Did they know I was watching them?  If I invited them out of their bubble would they choose to breach the barrier?  If they wished, I would invite them to ride in my shirt pocket or sit on my shoulder as I served as a tour guide to everything that was in my life.  I would show them my bedroom where I slept, the house where I lived, the school where I learned, and the yard where I played.  I would to introduce them to my friends, my brother, my sister, my dad and my mom.  Perhaps the everyday people, places and things in my life would be new and fascinating to these little people; after all, until recently their universe fit within a dome with a 4 inch diameter.

By now you may be wondering why I’m reminiscing about childhood snowglobe fantasies during the summer months.  Bad pizza?  No… A mild Arizona heat stroke? It is 105 today, but that’s not it either. The reason: my wife and I are expecting a new baby girl in a few short weeks.  Again I find my imagination consumed by the little person just out of reach.  I wonder if she can hear me when I speak. I wonder if she knows when I’m watching her play and squirm in her momma’s womb.  Though our two worlds are separate now, soon they will merge.  And when she breaches that barrier, I will be her dedicated tour guide to the home where we’ll live and the everyday places and things of our life.  I can’t wait until she sees the sweet smile of her gorgeous mother.  I look forward, with fondness, to the day she meets her fun-loving and passionate brother.  I will introduce her with pride to her grandmas & grandpas, aunts & uncles, cousins, and all of our friends.

Most of all, I just want to have our new daughter in my life and to hold her in my arms.  This time, though, I don’t only imagine the everyday people, places, and things will be new and fascinating for this special little person.  I am also quite confident that they will all take on fresh significance and allure for me when our baby is in my world.  Until then, I suppose I will continue to impatiently watch and wait from the outside gazing in.

1 Comment

Posted by on August 13, 2011 in Birth, Childhood, Parenting


One response to “Snowglobe

  1. Jason Ross (@ordinaryparent)

    February 21, 2012 at 8:08 pm

    Thanks for sharing. I wanted to share one of my recent posts with a parenting metaphor I thought you’d appreciate. Thanks!


Leave a Reply

Please log in using one of these methods to post your comment: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: