I had some news this week that a friend of mines 14 year old daughter had her first real kiss. I was thrilled in the way only a close friend, but not the actual mom can be.
This got me thinking about milestones and the bitter-sweet feelings they bring with them.
Ciara has physically been an incredibly easy child to mother.
She day-time potty trained so well, and potty trained herself during the night. She wet the bed maybe two or three times, and I have never restricted her intake of liquid at all. She has trained her body and bladder very well. This was the first and only milestone I have ever felt only glad about - not having to clean shitty nappies - yay!!
Her first day of Big School (Grade 1 - 2007) was wonderful and sad. My little baby is growing up. Kitted out in her Big Girl uniform, which was too big for her, she looked so happy and nervous and excited about her new adventure. The outside of my said "Yay, look at you my big girl" but the inside of me cried just a little.
I have always bathed Ciara. For two reasons, One : I enjoyed it and Two : I didn't think she could do a proper job of it. But then she wanted to do it herself, and in the shower. Hooray, I shouted on the outside, what a big, independent girl you are. "Don't take away my bathing please" I shouted on the inside. My baby was growing up.
Ciara turned 7 in January - SEVEN. She is growing so fast, and so beautifully.
Letting go is hard to do, and on the outside my face smiles, and the encouraging and appropriate words come out, but on the inside I cry just a little for the lost joys of being needed for everything, for that little girl with the big blue eyes who saw me as flawless and amazing and capable.
Friday, June 13, 2008
Monday, June 9, 2008
Some homework from me at last...
Hello Ladies,
I am emerging from my lovely vomit hued cocoon of work and readjusting to married life to fill everyone in on the daily soap opera. I can't remember when last my life felt "normal", can't remember my last unmedicated day, can't figure out where bliss became chaos and I became a slightly shorter and less attractive version of the incredible hulk. Running the risk of offending pretty much everyone else on the planet, how is it that my "new mother" friend can complain constantly about how hard her 9 month old is, how difficult her life is since having him and how she is run ragged? She hasn't worked in just over a year, she isn't studying, she has a maid and a wealthy husband, she laughs about how incensed she is when some audacious moron visits her before 15:00 and expects her to answer the door... Yes, I am PMSing, but is she absolutely insane?
I know its all relative, or at least, the reasonable garden gnome buried deep in my concious brain does, but the selfish bad day gremlin wants to rip her head off and stab out her eyes with a highlighter.
One...Two...Three...Four...Five...Six...Seven...Eight...Nine...Ten.
Still not calm.
Rinse, Repeat?
We recently got to four, and, after giving myself a healthy pat on the back for surviving working [and as close to single as one can get while wearing a wedding ring] motherhood thus far, I had a great moment a few weeks back where I realised that we had finally escaped from the fire eating goblin known as the "terrible two's", she may still be cheeky as hell but this is about as close to human as she has gotten to date. I can have a conversation with her now, and "why" actually has a purpose beyond switching on the smoke button hidden behind mommy's ears. The darling husband has arrived home, for good this time. She is still wetting the bed, still climbing into my arms in soaked pyjamas at 3 am for snuggles. I still get pee'd on four nights out of five, she still has nightmares, she still has abandonment issues, the scientologist raised husband is still refusing to consider medication even though she bounces off the walls, sleeps 4 hours a night and literally grits her teeth so hard she has begun to grind them down out of focus frustration, but you know what? Four is fantastic, the little pyjama clad monster who begs for seven bedtime stories also sings to me on Saturday mornings to get me up, sits on my lap while I go through article ideas, tells me my label samples are beautiful, and begs me to print Marilyn Monroe Benday Dot designs on all her old clothes before I make charity drops "so the things are beautiful for those other kids"
Little miss "new mother" can have her issues, she can have her maid to take her new baby so she can sleep all day, and a husband to sleep in the spare room with snookums all night, I have a child who knows that everything I do is for her, that when mommy is a little too tired for round eight of Peter Rabbit, it's real, and all round - I think I do okay.
I am emerging from my lovely vomit hued cocoon of work and readjusting to married life to fill everyone in on the daily soap opera. I can't remember when last my life felt "normal", can't remember my last unmedicated day, can't figure out where bliss became chaos and I became a slightly shorter and less attractive version of the incredible hulk. Running the risk of offending pretty much everyone else on the planet, how is it that my "new mother" friend can complain constantly about how hard her 9 month old is, how difficult her life is since having him and how she is run ragged? She hasn't worked in just over a year, she isn't studying, she has a maid and a wealthy husband, she laughs about how incensed she is when some audacious moron visits her before 15:00 and expects her to answer the door... Yes, I am PMSing, but is she absolutely insane?
I know its all relative, or at least, the reasonable garden gnome buried deep in my concious brain does, but the selfish bad day gremlin wants to rip her head off and stab out her eyes with a highlighter.
One...Two...Three...Four...Five...Six...Seven...Eight...Nine...Ten.
Still not calm.
Rinse, Repeat?
We recently got to four, and, after giving myself a healthy pat on the back for surviving working [and as close to single as one can get while wearing a wedding ring] motherhood thus far, I had a great moment a few weeks back where I realised that we had finally escaped from the fire eating goblin known as the "terrible two's", she may still be cheeky as hell but this is about as close to human as she has gotten to date. I can have a conversation with her now, and "why" actually has a purpose beyond switching on the smoke button hidden behind mommy's ears. The darling husband has arrived home, for good this time. She is still wetting the bed, still climbing into my arms in soaked pyjamas at 3 am for snuggles. I still get pee'd on four nights out of five, she still has nightmares, she still has abandonment issues, the scientologist raised husband is still refusing to consider medication even though she bounces off the walls, sleeps 4 hours a night and literally grits her teeth so hard she has begun to grind them down out of focus frustration, but you know what? Four is fantastic, the little pyjama clad monster who begs for seven bedtime stories also sings to me on Saturday mornings to get me up, sits on my lap while I go through article ideas, tells me my label samples are beautiful, and begs me to print Marilyn Monroe Benday Dot designs on all her old clothes before I make charity drops "so the things are beautiful for those other kids"
Little miss "new mother" can have her issues, she can have her maid to take her new baby so she can sleep all day, and a husband to sleep in the spare room with snookums all night, I have a child who knows that everything I do is for her, that when mommy is a little too tired for round eight of Peter Rabbit, it's real, and all round - I think I do okay.
news on sweets
no news isn't always good news, that is a fact... omg... i need happy pills... sigh... i know everybody always warns that it's difficult raising kids... but hells bells this is just ridiculous... i had no clue it could be this difficult... i feel like the baddest mommy ever... i screamed like a whore this morning... it wasn't pretty and I'm disgusted in myself... argh... tomorrow tomorrow i love you tomorrow... it's only a day away... hopefully tomorrow will be better... i keep telling myself that... that, and the fact that one of these days the kids have a holiday coming up...i just don't know how to be a decent mom at the moment... so yeah it's going like shit on that front at the moment...
other news... kay's new shrink wants to put him on Concerta... it's the newer version of Ritalin... good news?... i don't think so... i know it's the right thing to do... but giving my consent to put my 12 year old son on mind altering drugs, schedule 6 medicine... kind of freaks me out just a tiny little bit...
so there... that's my news... it sucks but I'll get there... i don't have a fucking choice do i...
Sunday, June 8, 2008
The Winner
is thus Angel. For 'Raising Damien'. On account of how you other mommies haven't pulled finger. Badness, I tell you.
Angel, your blingy badges are to be designed for you this week. Keep an eye out in your email for more details.
Bad Mommies: new homework.
Topic: tell us what you and your spawn have been up to lately. News, funnies, pics, rants, eltters, anything. C'mon - this blog is far tooo quiet!!
Angel, your blingy badges are to be designed for you this week. Keep an eye out in your email for more details.
Bad Mommies: new homework.
Topic: tell us what you and your spawn have been up to lately. News, funnies, pics, rants, eltters, anything. C'mon - this blog is far tooo quiet!!
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