Archive for May, 2009

 

Isn’t it ironic …?

Friday, May 8th, 2009

I worked to the point of obsession (me and Gina) to promote independence and a sense of self. I ensured that my child would be in bed every night be 7 p.m. so that my husband and I could have time … adult time. My child slept in his cot from day one and only slept in our bed on occasion during daytime sleeps and very rarely at night if he was too sick and we were too tired to attend to him (up and down the spiral staircase!). It’s not easy following such a strict routine but it pays off when your child responds and never gets between you in bed.

Well, that was the idea.

Despite all efforts, he came between us anyway … not physically but emotionally. He is always there. And there remain so many unspoken conversations about how we both feel in our new identities as parents. Being a parent is a vulnerable and fragile time and it is often not treated with the respect it deserves. I am a wife, a daughter, a sister, a friend, a lover, a writer, a patient, a client, a consultant, an employer, a dog owner, a Beetle driver, a shoe lover, an optimist, a runner, a breather … and so much more, I could risk running out of blog space. But when I added mother to this list, it tipped the scales, and balance is something I have been seeking ever since. I find it so difficult to switch and juggle a multi-faceted personality … but only when I am in the role as mother. My new persona takes so much from the old ones and it’s difficult enough trying to deal with those stats when you’re also playing out a guilt trip about what your new role is draining from your partner’s other personas. You whine and moan about not getting enough space when it’s just the two of you … but when there’s three, space is the one thing you could happily do without.

Does he know he’s getting between us? Of course not. I used to tell him he was ruining my life … and he developed a sense of humour. Now, I giggle with him all day and deal with the other stuff when he’s gone to bed.

Suicide

Wednesday, May 6th, 2009

I used to have a friend who would call me every night at around 5 p.m. and immediately apologise for calling at–what she termed–suicide hour. It was at a stage when every hour just happened to be suicide hour … I had no preconceptions about any one particular hour, yet she made a point of calling to remind me what I should be thinking about at 5 p.m. when I was preparing dinner, tidying the house, running the bath and expressing breastmilk from a dwindling supply, all at the same time.

No surprises then that she used to be a friend.

Smacking

Tuesday, May 5th, 2009

My child is a little old soul all wrapped up in a brand new body, full of wise words, a sociable disposition, a clever sense of humour, an awesome vocabulary and many, many lessons.

Just as he has lulled me into a sense of complacency and illusion that I have a very mature child, he will throw himself on the ground, throw anything he has in his hands at the time, tell me that I have a problem and refuse to do anything I ask of him. These are the terrible twos that have taken over a year to get here … and a rattling reminder that he is in fact a perfectly normal 3-year-old.

I made a vow before he was born that I would never smack him–it never worked on me but, instead, broke me … something I always suspected was the intention my parents had in the first place trying to deal with a brood of four and having little idea of how to go about that very tricky task. I have stuck to my vow even though I have to admit that there are moments when he gets so stroppy with me that I am tempted to klap him right across the room. These urges used to be a lot stronger when dealing with my anger at having had him in the first place–those days when I was convinced he had ruined my life and liberated me from my parallel dweller who wears her shopping and travelling fetishes on her sleeve–that I would remove myself from the room where he was performing just in case my anger got the better of me … a time when my stubbornness has served me well–I was, under no circumstances, going to turn into my mother.

If I can connect to my anger for long enough to take a deep breath and realise that it’s my stuff I’m dealing with and it has nothing to do with him–he is, after all, behaving like all 3-year-olds should–I am always amazed at how suddenly he drops his arms, puts a big smile on his face and carries on as though nothing has happened. As mystifying as it is maddening.

Something to ponder then is that perhaps the changed behaviour in children who are smacked has less to do with the smack and more to do with the fact that they are just following an inbuilt chain of events.

There is just no way I can smack him … how else would I be able to teach him that it is best to take out his frustrations on a cushion … or on the very same punch bag I used to defer my feelings of anger for him.

The simplest things

Monday, May 4th, 2009

I bought a footstool. It is a two-step plastic footstool and I bought it as soon as my child could walk. Over two years later, he still uses it all over the house. He can wash up at the sink before meals, he can reach things out the cupboards and, most importantly, he can go downstairs in the mornings to get himself something to eat if his hunger gets him before the desire to get out of bed gets me. It shows his independence and the fact that all kids are capable if given the tools.

From Slop to Sushi

Friday, May 1st, 2009

It happens relatively quickly—a bowl of sloppy greens to a slice of Norwegian salmon served up with spring onions, coriander and ginger. And then there were the prawns at the fish shop he declared he simply loved and would just have to have for dinner sometime as they were his absolute favourite. A family meal out for us doesn’t come with a bucket of chicken or a drive-thru the golden arches … my three-year-old would rather dine on salmon sashimi and rainbow rolls, washed down with a small can of soda water. We have now tried every half-price-sushi joint in Cape Town. Beluga is a hot favourite, followed closely by Salushi and Geisha. Can you imagine what he’s going to be ordering when he’s a teenager? Best we start saving now!