I’d like to point out from the get-go that Spouse and I have spent the majority of our lives as parents second guessing our decisions. It’s surprising how often the choices we made were based on believing our kids would just love it. All I can say is — ha.

Take Independence Day, for instance.

When First Born was almost two years old, we decided to bring her to see the Fourth of July fireworks display at the local high school. The parking lot and grounds were packed with vendors selling food and families getting comfortable on blankets, eager to observe that night’s illuminations. We were excited to be among the crowd and couldn’t wait to see our little girl’s expression when glorious colors streamed across the sky.

Sheer terror. That’s what was written all over her face beginning with the first loud BOOM that shook the ground. Her bottom lip quivered and teary hazel eyes stared up at us, silently imploring — how could you do this to me? She clutched my neck, trembling, and we were pretty sure we’d be watching fireworks on television in the future.

Thankfully, and somewhat miraculously, Spouse saved Independence Day with his handy-dandy earphones stashed in his work vehicle. Don’t ask me why he had them — it doesn’t matter — they got us through the night without having to fight our way through throngs of people in the midst of all the revelry. In fact, First Born fell asleep with the headphones practically covering her whole head and a content smile on her sweet face, while sparkling hues of color and white bolts of light splashed overhead.

The next year we ventured further out where the crowds weren’t so overwhelming. We positioned our seats just within the fence line of a quiet little neighborhood park on the top of a hill, where we had a decent view of the Independence Day display without being surrounded by hundreds of people (some who were as loud as the fireworks). A few kids played on swings and see-saws before, during, and after the celebration as parents sat nearby, feeling secure and satisfied that this was the best spot.

At some point word got around about our semi-secret Fourth of July site. Within a couple of years, the park went from a few families setting their lawn chairs up to first-come first-seated at the fence line, dozens of kids whirring around the playground, and — always on the prowl for a good market — vendors with food, ice cream, and light-up swords. So much for enjoying the calm confines of our neighborhood park.

When I was seven months pregnant with First Born, we made another poor Independence Day choice by taking Spouse’s 16-foot, somewhat questionably stable boat out on a lake where a huge fireworks display was taking place. It wasn’t the fireworks that caused the problem — it was trying to get back to shore at the end when everyone else seemed to be in a motor boat zooming around us. Our boat bounced around in the waves like it was going to become a rocket. How I didn’t go into early labor is beyond me. With all the splashing going on, I’m not sure I would have known right away if my water broke.

After that Independence Day, I should be more surprised that First Born — who held on another two months before making her appearance — wasn’t born with an inherent fear of boating.

Janine Talbot recently published a story about her first kiss in “Laugh Out Loud: 40 Women Humorists Celebrate Then and Now… Before We Forget,” available through Amazon. She lives in southern Maine. Email Janine at [email protected].