I'm going to do a seperate entry on each of my children and grandchildren. I'll start with my first-born, Jim.
That's Jimmy, aged nine months. He was a colicky baby who puked and cried a lot. Cliff and I, having both been spanked a lot as children, thought if we used physical punishment enough, our child would fall in line. After all, we'd seen so many brats, and we didn't want to be embarrassed by a kid like that. So we began spanking him around the time he was one year old.
We both realize now we were wrong. Had I known how quickly babies grow to adults, I'd have cherished each time I had to rock him, or walk him or bounce him, to keep him from crying.
One thing I recall about my little boy is that he really didn't want anyone holding him except me and my mom, (and his dad, in a pinch) until he was past two years old. We were the only ones who could pacify him during his fussy times. One time when he got a little older and had an earache at my mom's, he cried for me until she had to bring him home.
Jimmy didn't come with an instruction book, but bless his heart, he loved me in spite of all my mistakes.
He's approaching middle age now. But I still see him as the baby who was unjustly spanked, but loved me anyway. I know he isn't perfect. But I will always be on his side in any altercation. He's the one who taught me that even human infants can show unconditional love.
Stay tuned; my daughter will be my next family entry.