In the past few months several things have happened in my remit of mothering that have caused me to once again tip the hat to the old cliché of this too shall pass.
Here are a few examples of those things:
- My daughter came home from a party with an “inspiring’ mani pedi
- I danced with my daughter at a live gig wearing a cowboy hat
- My son cried because he wanted to STAY at school
- I looked out the window and noticed 2 extra children on our trampoline and thereafter was not required for 2 hours
I’ve moved to a different phase of parenting. And it’s a fairly brilliant one from my perspective. I’m having a laugh with my 4 year old; he’s doing deliberately BAD break dancing – specifically to MAKE me laugh (oh and how it does). My daughter wants to talk about the different influences of Britney and Madonna (mostly the same, we deduce). We are having kitchen discos where I don’t have to even force participation. My daughter is interested in my shoe collection and I’m happy to share – they’re AMAZING and it gives me a chance to wear them in the middle of the day (ain’t no other time they get worn.. sobs).
Don’t get me wrong, it ain’t all gravy. Ben still demands incomprehensible things like “Want train tower round around NOW” and screams constantly as I offer possible interpretations, which are far from whatever is on his mind. Holly is a full on pain in the arse when in control of the in-car playlist from my iphone (yeah Britney). Largely though, this phase is cracking and it’s cracking in direct comparison to why the previous two were less so. I describe thus:
- Birth – around 18 months: BLISSED OUT TERROR
Nature is both genius and cruel. It gives you a baby and makes you love it so much it’s actually physically painful. At the same time it puts you in charge of it’s total survival! This! At a time when that baby cannot speak, is vulnerable to everything freaking thing it might come into contact with. And Mother Nature decides to make crying this baby’s main means of communication! Desperate, wounded, pained crying… and so much that you think it constantly hates you and though you know that not to be true, it breaks your heart into tiny pieces on an hourly basis.
Some Mums I’ve seen totally rock this. Me? I was a wreck for a collective 3 years.
- 18 months to a little while ago: PERENNIAL HYPER VIGILANCE
So, Mother Nature, next… she decides to continue to pump into your veins the physically painful love and gives THEM curiosity, the ability to walk, unscrew things and to climb onto ridiculous structures without safety nets.
She forgets to turn off their through the night “need milk” alarm clock, even though they DO NOT NEED MILK. She makes them want to take YOU into the soft play while they chuck balls at your head… balls that are not hard enough to make you stop play, but just hard enough to make you cry inside.
Restaurants are uncomfortable. Hotels are a ball ache (Butlins = goooood). You don’t watch much on TV other than techni-coloured simple shapes things with trippy store lines. Adult company is mainly other victims of hyper vigilance and when it’s not there’s little connection, moreover reciprocal resentment.
BUT THEY ARE SOOOOOOO CUTE! And any hint of slight danger/harm/making them cry/feel sad/frightened will make us roar like the scariest Mama lions you ever saw.
It’s all good!
And so now we’ve got this phase. I’m literally (actual true story) dancing around the kitchen about this one, so I shall call it KITCHEN DISCO.
I don’t know what’s coming. Parents of teenagers, you don’t need to tell me. I’m happy to remain unenlightened. I’ve been one and I know I was SHIT! (Sorry Mum, sorry Dad, Morrissey made me like it).
But, returning to that good old cliché…. I guess it all too does pass and we just have to rock the ride.
LIFE IS SHORT. WEAR YOUR PARTY PANTS. AND KITCHENS? Theyz for dancin’