You read all the books and you are warned that you shouldn’t take everything to heart because every child is different. What they fail to tell you, however, is that every parent is different too. You shouldn’t just be monitoring those little differences in your child but also your own very different responses to every need your child may have.
Archive for 2008
never underestimate those Little Differences
Monday, August 4th, 2008Relationships left adrift
Friday, August 1st, 2008Call it the self-righteous attitude … and I have no doubt it has a little something to do with it … but just when you think things are settling back to normal, you realise that the friendship dynamics have gone all screwy. People’s need to procreate excludes them almost completely from regular social contact. And I don’t mean only the actual act of procreation which, in itself, takes that time and effort which no one (in their right mind) is (or ever should be) loathe to give when the circumstances are right (be it fruit-bearing or not … if you know what I mean). I mean the 2.4 children syndrome—yes, syndrome!—that causes families to retreat into their … well, families … and leave little room for friendships. I have most likely mentioned this before because it has a huge effect on me and mine. I am one of four children and never did that prevent my parents from interacting with numerous other families on a regular basis so we could interact and socialise. They didn’t have so many children as an excuse not to do this … what I mean is that they didn’t have subsequent children to provide playmates for previous offspring. (Eish, this is called talking myself into ever decreasing spirals.) More to the point, and what I am really trying to say, is that, as the mother of an only child, I wish people would be happier letting their kids out to play with friends than procreating siblings as a way of creating an insular family that has no need for others. Perhaps knowing my child would always be an only has prompted me to promote in him an independence when it comes to heading off to play with whoever he chooses. I can’t, obviously, speak for others and their reasons for all these quirks that come out of such a natural human condition … but I’m pretty sure whoever came up with 2.4 should be audited.
A Palindrome
Tuesday, June 17th, 2008Sandpaper on Varnish
Enter the self
Beyond the limits imposed by the self
Or others
Mama was wrong
Limits boundaries borders
Fabricated by self-doubt
Mama was wrong
Not the one nurtured for praise
The self is my self
Brewing beneath the surface
Inappropriately exposed
Uncomfortable in the world
Enter the self that is mine
Beyond the limits
Mama was wrong
Cutting and pasting
A cardboard doll
Pasting over the real
Mama was wrong
Paper burns
Paper burns
Mama was wrong
A cardboard doll
Cutting and pasting
Mama was wrong
Beyond the limits
Enter the self that is mine
Uncomfortable in the world
Inappropriately exposed
Brewing beneath the surface
The self is my self
Not the one nurtured for praise
Mama was wrong
Fabricated by self-doubt
Limits boundaries borders
Mama was wrong
Or others
Beyond the limits imposed by the self
Enter the self
From Self-loathing to Self-righteous
Wednesday, June 11th, 2008Sure, I don’t know it all … but what I do know I feel should be shouted from the rooftops and spray-painted on the sides of buses. As women in the work place, we are confident to give our opinion, even wallow in our knowledge – after all, our work is something we are very close to and we can, therefore, tell everyone that we are good at what we do and best they trust and take our advice. The Suffragettes paved a very significant way for us, only for us to be paralysed by fear of judgment when we speak of things we (yes, I am going to say it), as women, are most qualified to know. I’ve put my theories (and a few hand-picked from other qualified parties) into practice, I have got the results I knew I’d get, I have already done a fabulous job and even my son knows this … yet I am gagged. It’s unjust that, in this forum, I am not allowed to gloat a little about my abilities. Self-righteous … perhaps. But when you weigh up the options, why the hell not?
A Cinquain (or two)
Monday, June 9th, 2008stilted
voices punctured
limp movement, paralysed
puppet suspended with broken throat
gagged
puppet
limp, suspended
throat broken, stilted voice
paralysed by punctured skull
braindead
Babbling Blues to Rasping Reds
Saturday, June 7th, 2008No sooner had we started school (and I say we because this is most definitely a family experience), than possibly my biggest test of motherhood yet (motherhood, because this is way above the radar of any self-respecting father) presented itself at the local Montessori. I had to rescue my ‘baby’ from the nappy brigade! In the throes of building works, it was difficult to notice anything other than my own primal screams and shocking bad mood at anything that crossed my path … and, of course, a mother always blames herself first when her child is unhappy.
Every parent believes that his or her child is advanced, so it is not surprising when I say that mine is. A two-and-a-half year old who has never used a potty, was out of daytime nappies before he had a conscious memory and who says things like actually, rather and prefer in his regular sentences is not your average two year old (and even less so when you consider the fact that this is a male child I refer to). He was lumped in a classroom (and I use the term classroom in the loosest sense of the word) with snotty-nosed, nappy-wearing, dummy-sucking, screeching, incoherent babies who used two-word sentences usually comprising little more than uppie or doggie (note: not words in my child’s vocabulary … of course not). Not even one term into the year and I noticed the regression. When he was forced to use a potty in the playground because the teachers don’t take kids indoors to use the toilet at playtime … I had to stage an intervention!
Many mountains have been climbed in my life but, at this stage, it felt like I was climbing the Himalayas … and then some. In one week I conquered the building peak, my book-publishing peak and the preschool peak. I steamrolled them, flattened them, made sure they knew that I was there and best I’m not ignored. The building work is far from perfect, my book print-run had me in tears, but my child … well, he is now with the 3 to 6 year olds and begs me to take him to school every day, including weekends. I did good by him and that makes everything else in my life pale into insignificance in comparison. These tests are meant purely as a mother’s coming of age. My first test came early enough for me to start getting used to the fact that this is a relentless life-long commitment with no shortcuts, cheating or easy outs.
My coming-of-age party is scheduled for sometime in 2030s.
Pre-school blues
Sunday, May 4th, 2008“I’ll be back at about 2 p.m. The routine is on the fridge, his lunch is in the freezer … and, oh, don’t forget to read the sleep schedule … and, whatever happens, don’t pick him up if he cries when he is meant to be sleeping,” I shouted as I rushed out the door in my suit and boots, gathering my phone, wallet and laptop bag and almost forgetting the car keys in my haste to get the hell out of my prison for the previous eight months.
I had looked for a job until I was five months pregnant and showing too much belly to disguise my desperation to work and I had started looking for a job again as soon as I was off the painkillers from the birth. The interview that got me the job was the one that marked the moment of giving up hope of ever escaping the house in a way that would require me to use my brain … which is why I probably got the job. It was a case of: well, there’s my CV, you either like it or you don’t–give me the job, don’t give me the job, I’m not really bothered either way.
Eighteen months, a fall out with the boss, a few freelance jobs and a near breakdown later, I find myself at the school gates, my two-and-a-few-months-old boy by my side, feeling like I want to vomit. He cries, I’m upbeat. He wails, I’m upbeat. He tears at my clothes, I’m upbeat. I get to the car and I break down and cry. I’m weepy all week and I can’t figure out why–after all, I have waited over two years to get rid of him and now I don’t want to leave him.
I may have figured it out now. I still need to take a moment after the heart-wrenching way he has to be peeled off me in the mornings but I need to give us time … mainly I need to give me time. I know he is fine once the moment of separation is over and I know he will have fun, learn to socialise and learn a host of things I can’t teach him at home (mainly due to lack of patience than lack of ability). But I’m a whole different basket case. I need to give myself time to learn that relinquishing control three mornings a week does not have to send me back to therapy.
Perhaps sending him to school will teach me more than it will teach him. When is school ever out?
From mouths of babes…
Monday, April 14th, 2008I was beginning to think my child saw me as a screeching psycho. Loopy, animated, vocal, loud, but never serene. Then one day at age 21 months when he was paging through the Elle fashion supplement (his
creative flair coming through), he alighted on a statuesque model in over-sized sunglasses. He instantly beamed up at his dad, pointed to the pouting babe and said, ‘Mummy!’
My first instinct is to think cynically of the genetic coding in males to be sycophants. But I had only to look at that shimmering smile and cherubic locks and think how beautiful it must be to perceive things
from such naivetĂ©. To double-check my first instincts were indeed incorrect, I allowed a further thumbing of the glossy rag only to discover the identical reaction on reaching the page with, who is now termed, ‘my twin’.
Touching the surface
Saturday, April 12th, 2008Beloved,
I long to be the one
beloved, I yearn to be
special
to be the only
one with you, unhindered, untethered,
unleashed passion
oh you are mine,
beloved,
walk on the sand, the rocks,
the beach is ours to wallow in
sun and shadows
I flow to you
I am a stretching body
of water,
a flowing river towards a sea.
Hope,
longing for destiny
hope, desire to be where love is
magnetised
force fields in energy,
circles dancing in the ripples of light
drowning shafts
in water, we play, we live,
we are
sinking below the surface
look up and gaze upon my face
for I look upon yours
dreaming of you
playing in your glow
dancing, dreaming, drowning
desire, swallow me.
Know-it-all-mum
Friday, February 29th, 2008People don’t see what you’re doing well as what you’re doing well … they see it as what they aren’t doing well enough
Having studied Developmental Psychology, I always had wonderful (so I thought) snippets of useful (so I thought) theoretical information for those friends in maternal crisis. Not being a mum though, I was always knocked back by the just-wait-until-you-have-a-baby-of-your-own-then-you-will-understand! retort to all of my good (so I thought) advice. So, being a veteran of withstanding this comment, it stands to reason that, having had a baby of my own, I would have the practical back-up experience to offer up advice when a friend-in-maternal-need is having a crisis.
With other mums, there is no reason, no logic and no rational thinking in general. You cease to be the know-it-all and become the know-it-all-mum.
Shopping device/alarm
Thursday, February 28th, 2008I have an idea. I could probably patent it but it’s easier to write about it and let someone else do the hard work.
I had given up so many things to be a mum … shopping wasn’t one of them. But what to do when you have fabrics to stroke and shoes to ogle? With all that ‘ooh’ing and ‘ah’ing, who has a broad enough attention span to fondle a satin pump and make sure their child isn’t going walkabout in the traffic. The ultimate multitasker, I don’t even have that much scope.
The person who invented those mini-alarms attached to every item of clothing is a genius. The person who thought of putting an oversized t-shirt on her child, even more so – when the alarm goes off, the shop assistant gets to deal with the shoplifter … er … child and – ker-ching, ker-ching, a shoe sale is made shortly afterwards.
Lifestyle Choice
Wednesday, February 27th, 2008Never believe you can have it all ever again. From the moment you have a baby, there will be oh so many more choices to make and none of them involve choosing the best of everything.
Friends are the first to go … the non-parent friends, that is … and then the holidays … the ones that involve a ticket and a backpack and not much else … and the shopping trips that don’t include formula, toys and Steri-nappi.
I chose to keep the heels. Shopping one day for shoes, with a sleeping baby in a pouch on my chest, I tried on a wicked pair of heels and a pair of flats, trying to decide between the two. A ‘sister’ trying on shoes (out of my zone) caught my attention to offer a very unwelcome piece of advice: “You’ve got a small baby now; you’ll break your neck if you wear those heels.” I had deliberated long enough. “I’ll take them,” I said to the shop assistant … “actually I’ll take both, and I’ll wear this pair now”, I said defiantly pointing at the heels. I shot the turncoat a smug look as I strutted out of there, baby still deep asleep on my chest.
I now wear heels more often than I ever did before. There are some things I just can’t compromise on and there are some things that I just need to make a point about.
Humiliation vs. humility?
Tuesday, February 26th, 2008I have dealt with people stepping over me as I trip on my new Jesus Lopez heels, tumbling into the gutter and spilling my piping hot coffee on my Hermes scarf. I have dealt with people glancing at me over the latest Marian Keyes novel as I hurl my guts out on the London Underground. That’s easy!
But when I am crouching to attend to my child, my general appearance in a state of disarray from lack of sleep … or effort … I falter when the woman, fresh from the SPA flashes a haughty look as she struts on down the road to her next appointment.
L-O-V-E
Monday, February 25th, 2008I remember falling in love with my husband. I fell slowly and with little awareness of what was happening, and for a long time I denied that I was in fact falling for this man who I had first despised for so long and then shared my bed as a friend for many months after that. But I fell and it was beautiful.
I can’t remember when exactly it happened with my baby, that moment of falling. It could only be that it was the same gradual experience. The falling part takes a long time but the love; well, the love, it lasts forever.
Metamorphosis
Friday, February 22nd, 2008Money has always provided me with a perfectly good reason to live. So, although I had a very meagre pay cheque, I now had my reason. Perhaps surprisingly, it was when I had finally rediscovered my reason to live that I realised I actually had two reasons to live.
I blinked and missed the moment that made everything change from surviving to enjoying. I had been waiting for this blob to transition into a real person and cannot even pinpoint the exact time when it felt like I had a purpose in being there for him.
