I shouldn’t have been upset, but I must admit I was.

    My doctor released me from the hospital only two days after my baby was born because my mother would be here to help me. I had been home only about an hour when the doorbell rang.

    Our neighbor’s thirteen-year-old son was standing outside. “Can I see your baby?”

    What could I say? “Sure, come in.”

    As he peered into the crib he sucked in his breath through his teeth. “Wow! Sure looks funny, doesn’t he? All red and wrinkly like an old man. Hey, you!” he said, thrusting a grubby finger into the tiny fist of my brand-new baby. “He sure isn’t very good-looking, is he,” he said cheerfully, blowing a big bubble with the gum he chewed noisily.

    I choked back the words I wanted to say, and instead said, “Give him time.”

    After a few awkward moments, the boy left, and as I closed the door behind him, I turned to see my mother looking at me with a bemused expression.

    “It’s not easy to take, is it,” she said. “But I’m afraid it’s only the beginning.”

    “The beginning of what?”

    “Of your baby being evaluated by others. People more often than not say what they think. He’ll always be compared to someone else. That’s life in a competitive world.”

    “What do you mean, Mother?” I didn’t like what I was hearing.

“He’ll always be compared to someone else. That’s life in a competitive world.”

    “Well, people observe how you do things, how you care for your baby. They will ask if he sleeps through the night, if he’s getting enough to eat, if you don’t think he needs a supplement bottle, if the doctor thinks he’s gaining enough weight. It goes on and on. You just have to take it in stride. Sometimes people have good advice, and sometimes they just like to talk.” Mother sighed. “Of course, this is mild compared to when he starts school—”

    Mother scooped the new little clothes out of the washer and tossed them into the dryer.

    “It’s hard to know how much to expect of each child,” she sighed. “And it’s hard for parents not to compare even their own children, one with another.”

    The enormity of the task ahead of me, of bringing up my child unscarred through all this, frightened me.

    “You compared me, too, Mom — all the time — with Julie!” (I’m a middle child. Somehow my older sister was endowed with all the gifts: pretty face, intellect, charm, clear skin, lovely hair — at least that’s the way I’ve always felt.)

    My remark sent a pained look across my mother’s face. I wished I hadn’t said anything.

    “I know,” she said resignedly, brushing back a stray wisp of hair. “But I do appreciate you so much! Your thoughtfulness, your concern for others, your easygoing nature. I don’t know why we take so long to learn how to accept our children as they are and appreciate their good points. Maybe it’s because we’re so slow to accept and like ourselves.”

    “I was skinny and bony,” she remembered. “Flat-footed,” they called me at school. Your Aunt Theresa was always telling me how dumb I was. I began to believe it.” She checked the new little clothes in the dryer. “It was your father who helped me begin to believe in myself. He has been wonderful!” A smile creased her mouth, and her blue eyes were shining.

    “Attitudes have a way of being passed on from family to family and from generation to generation,” she continued. “It can be both fortunate and unfortunate—depending.” She folded my baby’s soft new things and carried them into the nursery. When she came back she put her arms around me. I found myself relaxing and laid my head on her shoulder.

    “I love you, hon,” she said simply. “And I do wish I’d begun to enjoy you much sooner, when you were very young.” She stroked my hair. “Maybe you can learn from my mistakes. Accept your little one as he is and love him unconditionally. Take what others say about him with a grain of salt, and turn up your nose at judgmental remarks about your care for him. I know you will do you very best.”

    The advice about turning up my nose was so unexpected coming from my mother that I laughed out loud.

    She released her gentle hold on me. “You rest now, while I straighten up the house. We want everything to be pleasant and in order when John comes home to his wife and new baby son.”

Most HEARTLIGHT articles can be reprinted. This article cannot without written permission of the publisher. However, you can send it via email to those whom you would like to see it using our Email to a Friend feature. This book can be purchased on line through the Heartlight Store.
Excerpted from: Devotions for a New Mother by Mildred Tengbom. Copyright © 1977, 1983, 2002, Mildred Tengbom. ISBN 0764225987. Published by Bethany House Publishers. Used by permission. Unauthorized duplication prohibited.

Title: "The Comparison Game"
Author: Mildred Tengbom
Publication Date: May 9, 2002

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