So, I started this blog just over 4 years ago, and I remember being quite blunt.
And funny. And observational.
Somewhere along the way, I let life sidle in and get in the way and make me a bit more serious. Oh, that.. and having 2kids in 2 years. A bit of a distraction.
So, let me undo my metaphorical librarian-bun, take my glasses off and be a bit sassy for once.
A few things:
1. This country doesn't believe in seasons. No joke. Everything is one giant mush of cloud, rain, wind, cold wind, warm rain, fog. Oh, and sunshine for about 2 days. And maybe some 75 degree weather at the beginning and end of the summer. And maybe in the middle. Whatever.
2. People drive like maniacs, but they do it in a very polite way. New Yorkers, for example, have no problem scraping the side of your car if you get in their way or drive too close (even though their roads are about 6 times as wide as over here). I like driving over here. It feels exciting, unnerving, and... safe. Odd.
3. This country has a lovely sense of tradition and reverence for culture and ceremony. Some people don't agree with it, some modernists call the royals a waste of time and money. But I think that in this day and age where everything is moving so fast and furious, and everything seems new and exciting, tradition is like a comfortable old glove. Secure. Warm. Tangible. And even for a "foreigner" like myself, I get caught up in it and love reading about the lines of royalty and what they've gone through (no matter how ridiculous or scandalous).
4. I miss having family around. I don't very many friends, and no one that I feel close to over here, so my "reliables" are the mister's family. And even then, it's hard to rely on them because they're so busy with their own lives running a business. I do miss my parents. I imagine that (as annoying as it would be) I could call them over to babysit or to have dinner, and they'd only be 30 minutes away. It would be a huge help to take the pressure off sometimes. But that's life at the moment, and we're managing as best as we can without that.
5. My kids are growing up with odd accents. They have a mix of British, American and Ukrainian. Can't wait to see what that's going to be like when they start talking properly.
6. I have a case of the "Madonnas". I have a strange lilt to my American accent, and it sounds pretentious. I don't like it, but it just comes out.
7. I'm SO glad we decided to have kids over here. I had the most amazing midwifery team, healthy food, private cozy room with double bed and flat screen TV, very consistent pre-and post-natal care, no doctors trying to ply me with drugs... the same experience, different hospitals...for both kids. And you know what? I didn't pay for a single bit of it. Not. one. dime. It was all on the (much maligned) NHS. Socialized medicine is THE way to go. Ridiculous America should learn a lesson when it comes to that. Amongst other things.
8. People here LOVE. TO. DRINK. However, somehow they manage to pace themselves, unlike my drinking episodes in NYC that ended up with me passing out at around 12am. Over here, people manage to stay relatively lucid and only semi-drunk even in extreme circumstances like staying out until 6am. It's admirable, and a little bit insane. I like that.
9. The food here is awesome. Most of it is fresh, locally sourced and NO ADDED SUGAR. In the US, I had about 2 cavities a month. It was bizarre, because I didn't eat a lot of sugary stuff as a kid or adult, so it baffled me. And then I come over here, I don't change what I eat or anything, and I haven't seen the dentist in 3 years. Healthy, strong, mouth and no cavities. Why? I've figured it out. In the US, food as added sugar in it. Everything does. Even bread does (and it doesn't need it, bakeries that mass-produce bread use sugar to make the yeast rise quicker). And you can taste it. Everyone in the US is doped up on fat and sugar and salt. It's disgusting. I'm so glad I live in a country that doesn't really do that. Sure, there's some junk out there, but you can very easily avoid it, and most of the stuff that stocks the shelves is good, old-fashioned healthy food. You don't even have to buy organic meat over here, because farming standards are carefully managed by the state and the names of farmers and their farms are printed on the actual label, so you know where your meat comes from.
10. British men are delicious (well, mine is especially). Most of them have manners at a dinner table (they don't pick their noses or lick their knives or burp/fart and think it's funny), they start realising that it's a good investment to buy a house even when they're only 25 years old, they open doors for girls, they buy rounds at the bar and don't let the girl pay, they know how to be polite and gallant in public and they also know how to be filthy/naughty behind closed doors. Mine especially. ;-)
And that, audience, is one of the many reasons I'm glad I'm in this country.
Sunday 11 December 2011
Saturday 12 November 2011
The comedy of the hypocrite.
When I give, I give 100%.
Not that I'm perfect or anything (far from it, as you've seen from the content of this blog). When it comes to my relationship or my family (or even my relationship with myself), I tend to think I can do it all, I can be perfect, and I preach about how to "be". That never goes down well and backfires and I usually laugh at myself whilst swimming around in the abyss of ridiculousness and complication that I stirred up. Martyr, me? Nah. *wink*
However, oddly enough, when I give to friends, I do what I preach.
If I talk about extending a hand or a hello, I act on what I say.
If I say I'll come over, I'll come over.
If I haven't seen someone in a super long time, I'll make sure I try and see them as often as possible when I can.
If I say I'll do "x, y, z" for them or call them if I haven't seen them in a while, no matter how chaotic my life is, I'll call.
If I don't have much to give, then I'll be honest in the blink of an eye and email/call/text "Hey, I'm busted. I'll give you a shout soon. Thinking of you."
Do I expect a constant barrage of "hey, how's it going"s? Not at all. But there's a balance, and only the friendship can figure out within itself what balance works. But you start up again right where you left off, normally, and that's because there's been some contact here and there.
I can count on one hand how many close friends I have that I can trust to give back as much as I give to them. Most of them are men, to be honest. I don't expect it, but a friendship is a two-way street, and it's nice to receive the love. I can give as much as someone needs, but there has to be a point where that other person says "hang on a minute... what's my contribution to this relationship?"
I'm at an age where I'm really tired of pursuing friendships that give nothing back. I'm tired of sounding righteous in my quest to find that friend that gives me time, just like I give them time no matter that I have two kids and a full-time job. It can be upsetting and disappointing. Everyone told me "oh, it all changes when you have kids... you can't find the time, it's hard to manage..".
Bull. There's always time to write a 2-second note to someone to put a smile on their face. Yes, having kids DOES change things. It makes you realise who your true friends really are. And if there's nothing really there, then no sense in wasting time trying to make it work.
Like I said, I'm not perfect in any way, and probably too honest, too pragmatic and too sarcastic to have very many close friends. Maybe I'm a bit weird. Maybe I'm too loud. It's possible I probably give too much, and it makes people retreat a bit. But reaching out is the one quality that I have that's 99% consistent. And after a while, it gets pretty old when there's radio silence on the other end.
Thank you for listening. Please excuse the vitriol, but I think it's a long time coming.
Not that I'm perfect or anything (far from it, as you've seen from the content of this blog). When it comes to my relationship or my family (or even my relationship with myself), I tend to think I can do it all, I can be perfect, and I preach about how to "be". That never goes down well and backfires and I usually laugh at myself whilst swimming around in the abyss of ridiculousness and complication that I stirred up. Martyr, me? Nah. *wink*
However, oddly enough, when I give to friends, I do what I preach.
If I talk about extending a hand or a hello, I act on what I say.
If I say I'll come over, I'll come over.
If I haven't seen someone in a super long time, I'll make sure I try and see them as often as possible when I can.
If I say I'll do "x, y, z" for them or call them if I haven't seen them in a while, no matter how chaotic my life is, I'll call.
If I don't have much to give, then I'll be honest in the blink of an eye and email/call/text "Hey, I'm busted. I'll give you a shout soon. Thinking of you."
Do I expect a constant barrage of "hey, how's it going"s? Not at all. But there's a balance, and only the friendship can figure out within itself what balance works. But you start up again right where you left off, normally, and that's because there's been some contact here and there.
I can count on one hand how many close friends I have that I can trust to give back as much as I give to them. Most of them are men, to be honest. I don't expect it, but a friendship is a two-way street, and it's nice to receive the love. I can give as much as someone needs, but there has to be a point where that other person says "hang on a minute... what's my contribution to this relationship?"
I'm at an age where I'm really tired of pursuing friendships that give nothing back. I'm tired of sounding righteous in my quest to find that friend that gives me time, just like I give them time no matter that I have two kids and a full-time job. It can be upsetting and disappointing. Everyone told me "oh, it all changes when you have kids... you can't find the time, it's hard to manage..".
Bull. There's always time to write a 2-second note to someone to put a smile on their face. Yes, having kids DOES change things. It makes you realise who your true friends really are. And if there's nothing really there, then no sense in wasting time trying to make it work.
Like I said, I'm not perfect in any way, and probably too honest, too pragmatic and too sarcastic to have very many close friends. Maybe I'm a bit weird. Maybe I'm too loud. It's possible I probably give too much, and it makes people retreat a bit. But reaching out is the one quality that I have that's 99% consistent. And after a while, it gets pretty old when there's radio silence on the other end.
Thank you for listening. Please excuse the vitriol, but I think it's a long time coming.
Sunday 6 November 2011
Habits and confessions of a perfectionist.
You would think that after being married to a Brit, living in London... that I would learn.
But I don't.
I'm a talker. I'm a very emotional, mushy, lets-talk-about-our-feelings kind of person. Always have been. He calls it "too much love". It's in my DNA. I was raised in a touchy-feely house, I was allowed to express my emotions, whatever they were, and it turned me into a person that is an open book. My face says it all. If I'm upset, if I'm sad, if I'm happy, if I'm lying. My eyes read like chapters, my face is the binding.
I don't have many friends here that I'm close to. I have 1, in fact. I have another close friend in the states that I talk to on an almost-daily basis on email, which is lovely- she and I share our lives together and I'm grateful for that. Otherwise, I talk to my other half.
Poor guy is sometimes bombarded with "oh, I don't know... what if.."s and "I feel a bit cloudy and weepy and clingy and I have PMS"s. I cry from nostalgia about the kids growing up, or about my separation anxiety going back to work. I can spin a bit in my weepiness. It drives him in loops and frustrating circles, because he's not a listener (even though he does listen), a lot of times, he'd rather be a do-er. He wants to help me. To solve the problem and scratch the itch. I've heard most men are, but Brits are much more pragmatic, from my experience. Brits (both men and women) don't talk to each other about their lives/problems/feelings very often in detail. The men put their heads down and keep going, and the women pretend their lives are very organised, sex lives raunchy and kids perfect. They want to get it done and get on with it. Keep Calm and Carry On. That motto courses through their veins.
If I'm being honest, that quality is one of the reasons why I'm in love with my guy.
That being said, I can't reign it in sometimes, and if I don't manage to talk in little bits here and there, once a month it all comes out like a giant volcano, and it can get fiery, and it can get heated, and it can end up with me in tears for absolutely no reason whatsoever other than just plain frustration and defeat.
Habits need to be broken, considering I'm in my 30s and should know better. I've said this many times. But it's the one habit that I can't seem to manage very well. If I'm eating well and not so tired and taking my vitamins, then I'm fine. But caffeine, exhaustion from my 2 babies and a sparse diet can take its toll on me. I point the finger at other women and think "See? they have it together. They get it all done with a smile on their face and skip in their step, what's wrong with me? Why am I so rubbish at that? Why can't I just let go and relax for a minute?" But they're probably saying the same thing about the woman next to them.
I'm still learning. I still feel like a kid in my head who's scared of the world sometimes and that people won't like her. And then alternately like this organised, happy, capable woman that is married to her dream guy and has 2 amazingly clever kids.
Maybe this will never change, and I'll always be a bit of a contradictory, eccentric nutcase. I just have to figure out how to dust myself off a bit quicker and look at the brighter bits.
But I don't.
I'm a talker. I'm a very emotional, mushy, lets-talk-about-our-feelings kind of person. Always have been. He calls it "too much love". It's in my DNA. I was raised in a touchy-feely house, I was allowed to express my emotions, whatever they were, and it turned me into a person that is an open book. My face says it all. If I'm upset, if I'm sad, if I'm happy, if I'm lying. My eyes read like chapters, my face is the binding.
I don't have many friends here that I'm close to. I have 1, in fact. I have another close friend in the states that I talk to on an almost-daily basis on email, which is lovely- she and I share our lives together and I'm grateful for that. Otherwise, I talk to my other half.
Poor guy is sometimes bombarded with "oh, I don't know... what if.."s and "I feel a bit cloudy and weepy and clingy and I have PMS"s. I cry from nostalgia about the kids growing up, or about my separation anxiety going back to work. I can spin a bit in my weepiness. It drives him in loops and frustrating circles, because he's not a listener (even though he does listen), a lot of times, he'd rather be a do-er. He wants to help me. To solve the problem and scratch the itch. I've heard most men are, but Brits are much more pragmatic, from my experience. Brits (both men and women) don't talk to each other about their lives/problems/feelings very often in detail. The men put their heads down and keep going, and the women pretend their lives are very organised, sex lives raunchy and kids perfect. They want to get it done and get on with it. Keep Calm and Carry On. That motto courses through their veins.
If I'm being honest, that quality is one of the reasons why I'm in love with my guy.
That being said, I can't reign it in sometimes, and if I don't manage to talk in little bits here and there, once a month it all comes out like a giant volcano, and it can get fiery, and it can get heated, and it can end up with me in tears for absolutely no reason whatsoever other than just plain frustration and defeat.
Habits need to be broken, considering I'm in my 30s and should know better. I've said this many times. But it's the one habit that I can't seem to manage very well. If I'm eating well and not so tired and taking my vitamins, then I'm fine. But caffeine, exhaustion from my 2 babies and a sparse diet can take its toll on me. I point the finger at other women and think "See? they have it together. They get it all done with a smile on their face and skip in their step, what's wrong with me? Why am I so rubbish at that? Why can't I just let go and relax for a minute?" But they're probably saying the same thing about the woman next to them.
I'm still learning. I still feel like a kid in my head who's scared of the world sometimes and that people won't like her. And then alternately like this organised, happy, capable woman that is married to her dream guy and has 2 amazingly clever kids.
Maybe this will never change, and I'll always be a bit of a contradictory, eccentric nutcase. I just have to figure out how to dust myself off a bit quicker and look at the brighter bits.
Tuesday 25 October 2011
17,520 hours
Since the first hour that I met her.
My days are filled with a profound joy to have her as a daughter, but a sweet sadness and nostalgia wind their way through the days like a gold thread. It's a subtle and very slow process, but she's growing up. The legs are longer, the face more understanding and clever, the hands push me away as she is fiercely determined to do more on her own.
"No, Mamo. No, please. Me. Mine. Do it."
She will be more beautiful and more clever than anyone I will ever know, and I'm so grateful that I can share my life with her and help her be the person that she wants to be.
My days are filled with a profound joy to have her as a daughter, but a sweet sadness and nostalgia wind their way through the days like a gold thread. It's a subtle and very slow process, but she's growing up. The legs are longer, the face more understanding and clever, the hands push me away as she is fiercely determined to do more on her own.
"No, Mamo. No, please. Me. Mine. Do it."
She will be more beautiful and more clever than anyone I will ever know, and I'm so grateful that I can share my life with her and help her be the person that she wants to be.
Thursday 6 October 2011
Been a while.
Well, here I am back to writing again.
I've been hiding, in a way, because I haven't had the creative and sarcastic spark that I normally do, and thus I found that sitting in front of a blank screen would make me feel a bit silly. Vacant. A time-waster.
Autumn has descended in the UK in the typical fashion: a week ago it was balmy, Indian Summer bliss. Warm enough to watch the sun set in shorts and a tank top, my hair scraped back from having gone swimming at the local marina with the kids and my other half.
Today, well... today came at us like a bitch slap. It was windy. Crisp. Grey. Cold enough to make me run to find my favourite black knee-length puffy coat with high collar, before going out to the park with the kids. Cold enough to have me dig out thick tights and sweaters for L to start wearing. Cold enough that when we all got back inside the house, the warmth and coziness was welcome relief from the adventures that we took and the running and laughing that we did, with abandon. The rug welcomed us as I laid down on it, with the kids on top of me, using me as their favourite beanbag.
It was a day where it would've been very easy to stay inside and do puzzles and watch Tangled (new favourite film of mine and L's). But no, I made it an imperative to do a no-TV day (much to her dismay) and instead bundled them up and discovered what the day had in store. Cold and runny noses, orange and gold fallen leaves, snacks al fresco. I even made it a project, and after collecting leaves and learning about shapes that naturally occur in nature, we headed home, stuck leaves on paper and painted them.
It was amazing that a day without an easy crutch (which I admit sometimes I use too much of) was a day spent learning, gazing, laughing and finding the joy in the sparkle of something unexpected.
I start work in November, and today I was eternally grateful that I hadn't gone back to work yet, so that I could really appreciate this day and what it gave us.
I haven't felt this happy in a long time. It's been a while.
I've been hiding, in a way, because I haven't had the creative and sarcastic spark that I normally do, and thus I found that sitting in front of a blank screen would make me feel a bit silly. Vacant. A time-waster.
Autumn has descended in the UK in the typical fashion: a week ago it was balmy, Indian Summer bliss. Warm enough to watch the sun set in shorts and a tank top, my hair scraped back from having gone swimming at the local marina with the kids and my other half.
Today, well... today came at us like a bitch slap. It was windy. Crisp. Grey. Cold enough to make me run to find my favourite black knee-length puffy coat with high collar, before going out to the park with the kids. Cold enough to have me dig out thick tights and sweaters for L to start wearing. Cold enough that when we all got back inside the house, the warmth and coziness was welcome relief from the adventures that we took and the running and laughing that we did, with abandon. The rug welcomed us as I laid down on it, with the kids on top of me, using me as their favourite beanbag.
It was a day where it would've been very easy to stay inside and do puzzles and watch Tangled (new favourite film of mine and L's). But no, I made it an imperative to do a no-TV day (much to her dismay) and instead bundled them up and discovered what the day had in store. Cold and runny noses, orange and gold fallen leaves, snacks al fresco. I even made it a project, and after collecting leaves and learning about shapes that naturally occur in nature, we headed home, stuck leaves on paper and painted them.
It was amazing that a day without an easy crutch (which I admit sometimes I use too much of) was a day spent learning, gazing, laughing and finding the joy in the sparkle of something unexpected.
I start work in November, and today I was eternally grateful that I hadn't gone back to work yet, so that I could really appreciate this day and what it gave us.
I haven't felt this happy in a long time. It's been a while.
Wednesday 7 September 2011
Mummy needs a cocktail
Back home again. Good old London end of summer. Meaning: blustery winds, rainy and autumn chill in the air.
Not that I'm complaining.
It's good to be back. It's good to explore, just me and the kids. It's good to get back into figuring out what to do every day, where to go, what adventures to have.
I'm going back to work in a month, and I have to say, the thought feels unnatural. I don't really want to, but I know that it'll be good for my brain to do it. It makes me a more inspired, more creative mummy to come back home to my kids at the end of the day and put them to bed.
What makes me nervous about going back, is that I like having an exhausting day with them. I like sorting out battles and quelling tantrums. I like figuring out bathtime with two. Many people find these impossible challenges, and sometimes sure, they're ridiculous how-the-hell-do-I-do-this kind of challenges. But that's what I signed up for, and I can't imagine life without it. Without them needing me, wanting me, looking up to me to do the best I can for them.
With the baby still feeding at night, I don't know how I'll cope with being back at work and solving creative problems on very little sleep. I'm sure I'll manage, but potentially the cracks will show either in my work, or at home. But I keep daring myself to think positive and realise that whatever happens, I'll manage. We'll manage. The kids will be fine. The baby, for now, will sleep in the walk-in closet for lack of an additional bedroom. But that'll be fine too. Laundry will get done at some point, and so will the dishes. I won't need to work in an office forever. But for now, that's what I need to do. But I will realise that tidying up the house when I get back from work will become less of a priority when I have a toddler who looks at my weary face and says "wow, Mamo. I love you." That's what I think about when I put them to bed, not about Pantone and Powerpoints.
It's good to be back home.
Not that I'm complaining.
It's good to be back. It's good to explore, just me and the kids. It's good to get back into figuring out what to do every day, where to go, what adventures to have.
I'm going back to work in a month, and I have to say, the thought feels unnatural. I don't really want to, but I know that it'll be good for my brain to do it. It makes me a more inspired, more creative mummy to come back home to my kids at the end of the day and put them to bed.
What makes me nervous about going back, is that I like having an exhausting day with them. I like sorting out battles and quelling tantrums. I like figuring out bathtime with two. Many people find these impossible challenges, and sometimes sure, they're ridiculous how-the-hell-do-I-do-this kind of challenges. But that's what I signed up for, and I can't imagine life without it. Without them needing me, wanting me, looking up to me to do the best I can for them.
With the baby still feeding at night, I don't know how I'll cope with being back at work and solving creative problems on very little sleep. I'm sure I'll manage, but potentially the cracks will show either in my work, or at home. But I keep daring myself to think positive and realise that whatever happens, I'll manage. We'll manage. The kids will be fine. The baby, for now, will sleep in the walk-in closet for lack of an additional bedroom. But that'll be fine too. Laundry will get done at some point, and so will the dishes. I won't need to work in an office forever. But for now, that's what I need to do. But I will realise that tidying up the house when I get back from work will become less of a priority when I have a toddler who looks at my weary face and says "wow, Mamo. I love you." That's what I think about when I put them to bed, not about Pantone and Powerpoints.
It's good to be back home.
Tuesday 16 August 2011
Hidden truths
My London Eye has taken a vacation for a while, hence the silence.
I have an Upstate New York Eye at the moment, and it has been amazing to get some much-needed perspective on a lot of things. Family, friends, myself.
When we arrived here, I admit that the prospect of spending a very long time with my parents in an area I grew up... well... nostalgia aside, it seemed daunting. It made me nervous that I would disappear into bad habits, old insecurities, and not spend time relishing the sunshine and the fresh grass under my bare feet.
I wanted to experience joy. Both with and without my children. I wanted to look at old friends' faces, I wanted to hear the music of the lake lapping the shore in the evening sun, I wanted to hold my husband's hand in a dive bar, nursing a cold margarita.
My wishes were granted.
In the beginning, I was confused. I felt frustrated. I felt like I was regressing, and not in a good way. My parents and I butted heads and danced around the uncomfortable distance that results in the years having spent 4,000 miles apart. I felt angry and alone when my other half had to leave me to travel to other countries and work whilst I stayed here with the kids.
But I confronted my fear. I dealt with my issues out in the open- both for myself, and to be honest with my parents. And very soon after, I started feeling a calmness. A peace. An appreciation for the people that my parents have become, and the beauty that I possess in my soul because of them and in spite of them. And they, in turn, have responded to me in a way that I never thought they would. They've helped. They've smiled. They've hugged. They've played.
I have experienced joy in my children's first touches of hot sand under their feet, L's first taste of peanut butter, M's determination to roll over on his 3-month birthday. I have watched L run around naked, M giggle and smile for the first time, I have held my husband's hand in a dive bar and I've seen a beautiful friend that I hadn't seen since she and I were 16 and dreaming about our futures and where we would be.
I'm starting to learn how to cherish the important things in my life. I'm starting to see the silver in the clouds, the sparkle in the water. I don't need games. I need simplicity and beauty in the hard stuff, and the more I ask for that, the more it'll be there.
I came here under the weight of a lot of assumptions about certain people, myself included, and all those assumptions have been blown away. People aren't what they seem. Places aren't what you make of them initially. What's left is the reality of who I am, who my family is, what kind of friends I want and don't want in my life, and what my parents mean to me now.
Certain truths aren't hidden anymore, and the realisation of what I need now and for my future are clear.
And in that clarity I can breathe easier, and I have the space to appreciate the joy that has played out before me, recorded in the little faces that I kiss goodnight every night.
Tuesday 28 June 2011
Meh, is what I say to that.
I have 2 children close in age. We decided that that's the way we're going to build our family. It works. It's our own version of chaotic perfection. The din of two children that are both in diapers is a kind of soundtrack to our life at the moment, and we like it.
Not everyone has the same view.
There have been various people, family included, who have said oh, so close in age, they both need you so much, it's exhausting.... oh, wow, what made you do that to yourselves, is that on purpose?.... etc etc. You know the drill.
And my family is even more direct. Someone on my side said to me once (when I was saying that I felt exhausted), in a sort-of-joking-I-don't-know-how-to-make-a-joke-way: well, no one told you to have two kids so close together, you know.
Yeah, thanks. That's ever so helpful.
This, however, doesn't make me feel defeated. Actually, it makes my normal stubborn I-will-do-it-myself-ness even more pronounced. It makes me work that much harder.
Unfortunately, this results in me not accepting any form of help from either sides. It's my way of saying: "Oh, well, if you keep commenting how exhausted I must be for having a newborn and a toddler, then I can prove to you that you're wrong in your judgement, and I can manage, and life is actually really great for us. Just because you didn't go that route doesn't mean we're nuts."
You're being irrational, is what you're thinking. You're justifying your choice of having 2 children close in age to other people by working that much harder and cutting off your nose to spite your face.
And admittedly, you're right.
I just don't like the fact that people can get off commenting about how they think that life is a certain way for me, and how I might not be able to cope. It pisses me off. It makes me proud of myself for learning the hard way. Helping run a business with my husband means... Doing bathtimes myself. Doing snacks and cooking myself. Doing varying naptimes with a newborn who only wants me to hold him all day, otherwise he's crying. Surviving on 3 hours' sleep every night. Speaking to a toddler in a different language hoping that she'll be bilingual, in an environment where all she hears is English all day. People telling me that I should have the toddler in nursery already because she needs to learn English ('she's almost 2, for goodness' sake..she's not talking properly yet, she needs help!') and learn how to "socialize". I get it from all angles. You've heard it all before, so I won't repeat myself.
I'm not ungrateful, though I know I sound like it. It's just that all I hear all day is how tough it must be, and I have to keep saying to those people "It's not tough. Some days it is, but for the most part, it's lovely, and I wouldn't change a thing."
Why can't I just do things the way I want to do them? Why can't I blast my own horn if I want to? Why can't I say "no thank you" when people offer to get my kids random gifts or try and give them chocolate and cookies or tell me that they'll offer to come over so I can get a 'break'?
I want to be selfish. I want to spend time with my kids before I go back to work in the fall, and I'm conscious that this summer will go by extremely quickly. My life clock is ticking faster with each passing month with them, and I feel like being possessive a lot of the time.
Do I stretch myself too thin as a result? Most likely. Does it make me look like a martyr? Probably. Does it keep people at a bit of a distance? Maybe. Do I really care? Well, I care enough to give the subject this much attention and writing space, so obviously I do. But I'd like to not care. Doesn't sit very well with family, though.
I can't help but think that my most important role in life is being their mother. I have other important jobs and other aspirations for myself that exist in the layers underneath, but this is the one that I want to be as perfect as possible. I want them to learn from me and I want to learn from them. I want to watch them as they take first steps, say first words.. I want to watch them as they fall asleep. At least for now, while I still have their pudgy little hands in mine, and I can have them close to me.
I don't care if this results in me being bleary-eyed and not having time to wash my hair and people complaining that they don't see me enough.
Meh, is what I say.*
*This could be the reason that I don't have very many friends.
Not everyone has the same view.
There have been various people, family included, who have said oh, so close in age, they both need you so much, it's exhausting.... oh, wow, what made you do that to yourselves, is that on purpose?.... etc etc. You know the drill.
And my family is even more direct. Someone on my side said to me once (when I was saying that I felt exhausted), in a sort-of-joking-I-don't-know-how-to-make-a-joke-way: well, no one told you to have two kids so close together, you know.
Yeah, thanks. That's ever so helpful.
This, however, doesn't make me feel defeated. Actually, it makes my normal stubborn I-will-do-it-myself-ness even more pronounced. It makes me work that much harder.
Unfortunately, this results in me not accepting any form of help from either sides. It's my way of saying: "Oh, well, if you keep commenting how exhausted I must be for having a newborn and a toddler, then I can prove to you that you're wrong in your judgement, and I can manage, and life is actually really great for us. Just because you didn't go that route doesn't mean we're nuts."
You're being irrational, is what you're thinking. You're justifying your choice of having 2 children close in age to other people by working that much harder and cutting off your nose to spite your face.
And admittedly, you're right.
I just don't like the fact that people can get off commenting about how they think that life is a certain way for me, and how I might not be able to cope. It pisses me off. It makes me proud of myself for learning the hard way. Helping run a business with my husband means... Doing bathtimes myself. Doing snacks and cooking myself. Doing varying naptimes with a newborn who only wants me to hold him all day, otherwise he's crying. Surviving on 3 hours' sleep every night. Speaking to a toddler in a different language hoping that she'll be bilingual, in an environment where all she hears is English all day. People telling me that I should have the toddler in nursery already because she needs to learn English ('she's almost 2, for goodness' sake..she's not talking properly yet, she needs help!') and learn how to "socialize". I get it from all angles. You've heard it all before, so I won't repeat myself.
I'm not ungrateful, though I know I sound like it. It's just that all I hear all day is how tough it must be, and I have to keep saying to those people "It's not tough. Some days it is, but for the most part, it's lovely, and I wouldn't change a thing."
Why can't I just do things the way I want to do them? Why can't I blast my own horn if I want to? Why can't I say "no thank you" when people offer to get my kids random gifts or try and give them chocolate and cookies or tell me that they'll offer to come over so I can get a 'break'?
I want to be selfish. I want to spend time with my kids before I go back to work in the fall, and I'm conscious that this summer will go by extremely quickly. My life clock is ticking faster with each passing month with them, and I feel like being possessive a lot of the time.
Do I stretch myself too thin as a result? Most likely. Does it make me look like a martyr? Probably. Does it keep people at a bit of a distance? Maybe. Do I really care? Well, I care enough to give the subject this much attention and writing space, so obviously I do. But I'd like to not care. Doesn't sit very well with family, though.
I can't help but think that my most important role in life is being their mother. I have other important jobs and other aspirations for myself that exist in the layers underneath, but this is the one that I want to be as perfect as possible. I want them to learn from me and I want to learn from them. I want to watch them as they take first steps, say first words.. I want to watch them as they fall asleep. At least for now, while I still have their pudgy little hands in mine, and I can have them close to me.
I don't care if this results in me being bleary-eyed and not having time to wash my hair and people complaining that they don't see me enough.
Meh, is what I say.*
*This could be the reason that I don't have very many friends.
Friday 24 June 2011
Brought to you by the word "goo".
I was holding him the other day, watching her play outside with her water/sand table.
She was deftly organising and filling little cups with sand, delighting as she tipped them into the water, squealing when she managed to get herself wet. She would run around with her arms in the air, doing little dances and yelling "Hello!!!" to no one in particular whilst the sunlight caught the tendrils of her hair as they moved in the breeze. I have to remember that colour, I thought to myself. That glint of pure gold with hints of strawberry. I swear, I try and memorize her hair, her long limbs, her mossy green eyes... I try and memorize them every single day so that when I get to the end of my days, those moments will be the sweetness before I leave this planet.
And then he spoke. I hadn't noticed, but he'd been staring up at me, very contentedly, not making a sound. Just scanning my face.
I looked down, and a huge smile spread across his face. His grey-blue elfin eyes with beautifully long lashes... those eyes actually twinkled. No joke. And he said "Goooo", and finished it off with a smirk and a coy tilt of his head. And smiled again.
I was completely taken aback. My heart skipped, as if someone had winked at me, flirted with me. Told me that I was the only beautiful thing in the entire world. I spoke back to him, the same word, same intonation. He smiled again, and waved his arms appreciatively. I kissed his little bald head. I just wanted to devour him, devour this moment.
And then I looked up and saw L watching us.
"Come here and say hello, little miss funnypants", I said. She just smiled and ran off.
I couldn't decide whether to be annoyed and guilty that I was partially ignoring her by trying to have a conversation with him, or be proud that she understood that I needed my time, and that she would give that to me, whilst she played by herself.
Those questions don't have answers. She'll let me know what she needs, and so far, those shouts of delight and wonder as she runs off into the park in front of me, chasing her shadow... those are the only answers I need right now.
She was deftly organising and filling little cups with sand, delighting as she tipped them into the water, squealing when she managed to get herself wet. She would run around with her arms in the air, doing little dances and yelling "Hello!!!" to no one in particular whilst the sunlight caught the tendrils of her hair as they moved in the breeze. I have to remember that colour, I thought to myself. That glint of pure gold with hints of strawberry. I swear, I try and memorize her hair, her long limbs, her mossy green eyes... I try and memorize them every single day so that when I get to the end of my days, those moments will be the sweetness before I leave this planet.
And then he spoke. I hadn't noticed, but he'd been staring up at me, very contentedly, not making a sound. Just scanning my face.
I looked down, and a huge smile spread across his face. His grey-blue elfin eyes with beautifully long lashes... those eyes actually twinkled. No joke. And he said "Goooo", and finished it off with a smirk and a coy tilt of his head. And smiled again.
I was completely taken aback. My heart skipped, as if someone had winked at me, flirted with me. Told me that I was the only beautiful thing in the entire world. I spoke back to him, the same word, same intonation. He smiled again, and waved his arms appreciatively. I kissed his little bald head. I just wanted to devour him, devour this moment.
And then I looked up and saw L watching us.
"Come here and say hello, little miss funnypants", I said. She just smiled and ran off.
I couldn't decide whether to be annoyed and guilty that I was partially ignoring her by trying to have a conversation with him, or be proud that she understood that I needed my time, and that she would give that to me, whilst she played by herself.
Those questions don't have answers. She'll let me know what she needs, and so far, those shouts of delight and wonder as she runs off into the park in front of me, chasing her shadow... those are the only answers I need right now.
Sunday 19 June 2011
Even if you don't read it..I'll still say it.
He doesn't read my blog.
To be fair, he doesn't because he thinks that I should have my "own stuff" that I can keep apart from all of our joint ventures. We share everything, but my writing he assumes I would want to keep private.
I respect his point of view, but I sometimes wish he would take a peek at it. Hopefully, he'd be proud.
Regardless, I'd like to say something. To him, and to all the fathers out there.
It can be a hard deal, being a Daddy. It's hard in the beginning, because babies don't really do much. You can feel out of the loop. You can feel second-fiddle. You crave reciprocation from this little thing, and you're met with crying, explosive poos, and the occasional smile. And the wife, well, she tries her best to give you the rest of herself that's left at the end of the day, but mostly, she'll be passed out on the couch, exhausted.
But you persevere. You ask what you can do to help. You hold your partner's hand while she collapses in a puddle of emotion, talking about how amazing and how hard it is to be a mother. When you have a second, you don't sleep on the couch, but you cook delicious dinners for the family and entertain everyone on the weekends so she gets a break. It's hard, but you manage to make it look easy.
Mister, you make our life more musical, more patient and more loving than I could've ever done on my own. Thank goodness we found each other, and made these amazing little people to share in so many fun road trips.
We may not have time to say it face to face at the moment, but I adore you. Coolest husband and Daddio on the block. Rock fact.
To be fair, he doesn't because he thinks that I should have my "own stuff" that I can keep apart from all of our joint ventures. We share everything, but my writing he assumes I would want to keep private.
I respect his point of view, but I sometimes wish he would take a peek at it. Hopefully, he'd be proud.
Regardless, I'd like to say something. To him, and to all the fathers out there.
It can be a hard deal, being a Daddy. It's hard in the beginning, because babies don't really do much. You can feel out of the loop. You can feel second-fiddle. You crave reciprocation from this little thing, and you're met with crying, explosive poos, and the occasional smile. And the wife, well, she tries her best to give you the rest of herself that's left at the end of the day, but mostly, she'll be passed out on the couch, exhausted.
But you persevere. You ask what you can do to help. You hold your partner's hand while she collapses in a puddle of emotion, talking about how amazing and how hard it is to be a mother. When you have a second, you don't sleep on the couch, but you cook delicious dinners for the family and entertain everyone on the weekends so she gets a break. It's hard, but you manage to make it look easy.
Mister, you make our life more musical, more patient and more loving than I could've ever done on my own. Thank goodness we found each other, and made these amazing little people to share in so many fun road trips.
We may not have time to say it face to face at the moment, but I adore you. Coolest husband and Daddio on the block. Rock fact.
Monday 13 June 2011
Oh, you mean I can actually ask? Ahh, now I see how it works.
Apologies out there to those of you who have been reading my blog lately thinking umm... this is supposed to be about life in London and your perspective on it, and it's sounding, hmm, rather bleak and grey lately. Is that supposed to be because it always rains over there? Get a grip, lady.
I don't apologise for feeling the way I have been, having had a baby and being on a hormonal Tilt-A-Whirl... but I do apologise to you readers that think I've lost the plot.
Here's the thing: Having kids, no matter how many, is a hard fucking deal the first 3-6 months. It's amazing and I'm really adoring these two beautiful people that have made our life complete magic, but interlaced in that amazing bit is a really hard bit that I forgot about. It can be torture, having had days, weeks, of no sleep. It can be emotionally draining. I'm left questioning my successes and failures every hour of every day, after every tantrum, tear, thrown toy, scraped knee and scream (and some of those happen to be mine).
We've moved houses 5 times in 6 years. Within those 6 years, we had 2 babies in 3 years. I live in a country where I'm still trying to find my way around, and still trying to figure out bus routes, never mind government paperwork, toddler classes and immunisations. I am effectively a single parent from 9am until 10pm, every day, and sometimes on weekends, while my other half tries to do his best to keep his business running so we can have a good life. I do the cooking, laundry, banking, playdates, bathtimes, medical appointments, travel diary management... and still try and take a shower once a day (I'd be lying if I didn't say that on average, that actually happens once every 3 days) and maybe shave my legs once a week. But the house is tidy, the kids are clean, I do manage to scrape my hair back and add some blush to my face, and everyone is healthy and fed. Coffee has become my fuel, because I tend to forget to eat much of anything normally.
I don't have any close friends over here to talk to. I don't have his family to help because they work hard hours in a fast-paced industry. My own family is on a different continent.
So, a lot of times, I'm on my own. Both emotionally and literally. And I look outside of my family unit and I start comparing and contrasting, thinking that other families out there have it cracked, and everyone else other than me can make a really solid and happy family unit and can make it all work seamlessly. I feel like I always drop the ball, I always screw up, I always manage to fail at the most important things, and lately, it's been my relationship. My one thing that I always said I would never potentially neglect, and always work at.
I'm not a hero. There are loads of women out there that have it much harder and don't complain, don't talk about the hard shit, and put on a brave face. I don't deserve a special medal, so I'm not asking for the sympathetic cocking of the head to the side to say "oh, you poor thing."
My issue is that I wear my heart on my sleeve, but I pretend that I don't, which is the worst kind of martyr. I pretend that I don't need to vent, I pretend that my tears aren't tears of exhaustion, I make sure that everyone is okay even if I resent the fact that I haven't taken care of my needs at all, and I apologise to everyone before I tell them about my obstacles, because I feel that no one, including my other half, needs to hear my issues. Everyone has a bag of shit, right? I don't want to put my shit in their bag. So my opening line is "I'm sorry, but I just feel that... and don't take this the wrong way, but...". It's quite passive and wimpy, which is not an example that I want to set for my daughter. I want her to own her feelings, to be a sentient and sympathetic human being, and to know how to convey them without regret.
Unfortunately, this ends up pushing people away. And the worst part about that is that my one best friend, my husband, gets pushed the farthest. Instead of asking for help, my exhaustion results in snapping at people. Barking what I need, and not asking for it. Not giving anyone the benefit of the doubt, and expecting the worst. I don't ask for anything, I demand it, out of sheer because I deserve it-ness.
The lines of communication get broken, and it all starts to feel very numb. It's an added layer to our exhaustion that tinges everything with that extra bit of grey, and makes the grooves around our eyes less like happy story-lines, and more like resignation and sadness.
I need to be able to cry without apologising. I need to be able to say "Hey, I feel like crap, and I need a hug." Once I open myself up without fear of judgement, the colour seems to come back into the scene. Everything seems more manageable.
I need to keep trying to let go and embrace the imperfections that I try so hard to hide. Maybe only then will I fix the cracks in the surface and realise how perfect those flaws, to me and my family, really are.
I don't apologise for feeling the way I have been, having had a baby and being on a hormonal Tilt-A-Whirl... but I do apologise to you readers that think I've lost the plot.
Here's the thing: Having kids, no matter how many, is a hard fucking deal the first 3-6 months. It's amazing and I'm really adoring these two beautiful people that have made our life complete magic, but interlaced in that amazing bit is a really hard bit that I forgot about. It can be torture, having had days, weeks, of no sleep. It can be emotionally draining. I'm left questioning my successes and failures every hour of every day, after every tantrum, tear, thrown toy, scraped knee and scream (and some of those happen to be mine).
We've moved houses 5 times in 6 years. Within those 6 years, we had 2 babies in 3 years. I live in a country where I'm still trying to find my way around, and still trying to figure out bus routes, never mind government paperwork, toddler classes and immunisations. I am effectively a single parent from 9am until 10pm, every day, and sometimes on weekends, while my other half tries to do his best to keep his business running so we can have a good life. I do the cooking, laundry, banking, playdates, bathtimes, medical appointments, travel diary management... and still try and take a shower once a day (I'd be lying if I didn't say that on average, that actually happens once every 3 days) and maybe shave my legs once a week. But the house is tidy, the kids are clean, I do manage to scrape my hair back and add some blush to my face, and everyone is healthy and fed. Coffee has become my fuel, because I tend to forget to eat much of anything normally.
I don't have any close friends over here to talk to. I don't have his family to help because they work hard hours in a fast-paced industry. My own family is on a different continent.
So, a lot of times, I'm on my own. Both emotionally and literally. And I look outside of my family unit and I start comparing and contrasting, thinking that other families out there have it cracked, and everyone else other than me can make a really solid and happy family unit and can make it all work seamlessly. I feel like I always drop the ball, I always screw up, I always manage to fail at the most important things, and lately, it's been my relationship. My one thing that I always said I would never potentially neglect, and always work at.
I'm not a hero. There are loads of women out there that have it much harder and don't complain, don't talk about the hard shit, and put on a brave face. I don't deserve a special medal, so I'm not asking for the sympathetic cocking of the head to the side to say "oh, you poor thing."
My issue is that I wear my heart on my sleeve, but I pretend that I don't, which is the worst kind of martyr. I pretend that I don't need to vent, I pretend that my tears aren't tears of exhaustion, I make sure that everyone is okay even if I resent the fact that I haven't taken care of my needs at all, and I apologise to everyone before I tell them about my obstacles, because I feel that no one, including my other half, needs to hear my issues. Everyone has a bag of shit, right? I don't want to put my shit in their bag. So my opening line is "I'm sorry, but I just feel that... and don't take this the wrong way, but...". It's quite passive and wimpy, which is not an example that I want to set for my daughter. I want her to own her feelings, to be a sentient and sympathetic human being, and to know how to convey them without regret.
Unfortunately, this ends up pushing people away. And the worst part about that is that my one best friend, my husband, gets pushed the farthest. Instead of asking for help, my exhaustion results in snapping at people. Barking what I need, and not asking for it. Not giving anyone the benefit of the doubt, and expecting the worst. I don't ask for anything, I demand it, out of sheer because I deserve it-ness.
The lines of communication get broken, and it all starts to feel very numb. It's an added layer to our exhaustion that tinges everything with that extra bit of grey, and makes the grooves around our eyes less like happy story-lines, and more like resignation and sadness.
I need to be able to cry without apologising. I need to be able to say "Hey, I feel like crap, and I need a hug." Once I open myself up without fear of judgement, the colour seems to come back into the scene. Everything seems more manageable.
I need to keep trying to let go and embrace the imperfections that I try so hard to hide. Maybe only then will I fix the cracks in the surface and realise how perfect those flaws, to me and my family, really are.
Friday 3 June 2011
Today. Tomorrow. One minute at a time.
Today I felt like I failed.
We bought L a toddler bed and put it in her room yesterday. She loved it, and being brave, wanted to nap in it, but felt afraid. Confused. Overwhelmed. And at 19 months, has no idea how to convey those sentiments to me, unfortunately. But I felt it in my bones. Something was making her needy for me, and this wasn't something she felt very often, the tough cookie that she is.
Yesterday was the first nap in the bed, and through her tears and anger, she fell asleep in it, with me sitting next to her, stroking her hair.
Today was different. Today was a day that I couldn't sit with her for very long because the Boy needed a feed, and she didn't want him in her room with me and her on the bed, she wanted me all to herself. She yells "Mama! ME. ME. ME." and pulls me to her closely, as if to say "I need you now. It's ME time. MY time. You are MINE."
I sat with her and watched her drift off, and then the Boy let out a cry in the other room, and her eyes snapped open. I told her that I would have to tend to him but come back to her.
She took this as me abandoning her. Leaving her.
As I was feeding her brother, all I heard was gutteral screeching and yelling and crying, yelling "Mama! Maaaamaa!!" desperately. I heard pounding on the walls, I heard the throwing of books, I heard her angry wails, waiting for me to come back to her.
It was the most heartbreaking moment I've ever had as a parent, and after I put the baby down after his feed, I had to stand in the living room to regroup. And as I did so, my heart felt broken. I felt broken. I started to sob. I sobbed because I love them both so very much and felt torn in two. I sobbed because I feel bad that my little girl has to adjust to having another member in the family. I sobbed that I couldn't run to her at every "Mama" that exploded out of her lungs. I sobbed because I felt like I failed as a mother because I couldn't prevent my child from feeling hurt or neglected or abandoned.
I realise, in that rational part of my brain, that my children will always know how monumental my love and pride is for them, but today was a day where I felt confused, lost and helpless to doing what I wanted for them, but ultimately couldn't be torn in half to accomplish what I wanted to.
Some days will be better than others. Today I felt my little girl's hurt, and my throat burns with how profoundly sad I was that I couldn't help her in that moment.
Sure, it's "just a bed" to anyone else, but I don't ever want them to think that when it comes to them, I would view anything as "just". Everything is important. Their world is important. L's world at the moment is in a time of transition, of change. She's learning things before she's ready for them, sometimes.
Today she didn't nap. She needed me to hold her, walk with her, read books with her.
Tomorrow's a new day. I'll leave today in my memory as a lesson in loving, a lesson that my children have taught me about patience, and how the heart, just like any muscle, constantly works itself to its potential to get stronger, and add more layers to be able to love more efficiently.
We bought L a toddler bed and put it in her room yesterday. She loved it, and being brave, wanted to nap in it, but felt afraid. Confused. Overwhelmed. And at 19 months, has no idea how to convey those sentiments to me, unfortunately. But I felt it in my bones. Something was making her needy for me, and this wasn't something she felt very often, the tough cookie that she is.
Yesterday was the first nap in the bed, and through her tears and anger, she fell asleep in it, with me sitting next to her, stroking her hair.
Today was different. Today was a day that I couldn't sit with her for very long because the Boy needed a feed, and she didn't want him in her room with me and her on the bed, she wanted me all to herself. She yells "Mama! ME. ME. ME." and pulls me to her closely, as if to say "I need you now. It's ME time. MY time. You are MINE."
I sat with her and watched her drift off, and then the Boy let out a cry in the other room, and her eyes snapped open. I told her that I would have to tend to him but come back to her.
She took this as me abandoning her. Leaving her.
As I was feeding her brother, all I heard was gutteral screeching and yelling and crying, yelling "Mama! Maaaamaa!!" desperately. I heard pounding on the walls, I heard the throwing of books, I heard her angry wails, waiting for me to come back to her.
It was the most heartbreaking moment I've ever had as a parent, and after I put the baby down after his feed, I had to stand in the living room to regroup. And as I did so, my heart felt broken. I felt broken. I started to sob. I sobbed because I love them both so very much and felt torn in two. I sobbed because I feel bad that my little girl has to adjust to having another member in the family. I sobbed that I couldn't run to her at every "Mama" that exploded out of her lungs. I sobbed because I felt like I failed as a mother because I couldn't prevent my child from feeling hurt or neglected or abandoned.
I realise, in that rational part of my brain, that my children will always know how monumental my love and pride is for them, but today was a day where I felt confused, lost and helpless to doing what I wanted for them, but ultimately couldn't be torn in half to accomplish what I wanted to.
Some days will be better than others. Today I felt my little girl's hurt, and my throat burns with how profoundly sad I was that I couldn't help her in that moment.
Sure, it's "just a bed" to anyone else, but I don't ever want them to think that when it comes to them, I would view anything as "just". Everything is important. Their world is important. L's world at the moment is in a time of transition, of change. She's learning things before she's ready for them, sometimes.
Today she didn't nap. She needed me to hold her, walk with her, read books with her.
Tomorrow's a new day. I'll leave today in my memory as a lesson in loving, a lesson that my children have taught me about patience, and how the heart, just like any muscle, constantly works itself to its potential to get stronger, and add more layers to be able to love more efficiently.
Tuesday 24 May 2011
Two much. Not enough. Date night.
I'm taking the rare opportunity to write, because both of them are napping (the universe was looking out for me today, and gave me a much-needed respite from the chaos).
I swore up and down, before I had kids, that I would be the mom who would never yell. I would be the mom that would have the serene patience that other mothers would envy. I would never be shrill, never be stern, always teach my child the rules by being strict but ever so fair. I would be the mom that would always look like the boho-chic she was before kids, hair just-perfectly-messy, with dewy cheeks and sinewy body.*
Yeah. Hear that laughing? That's fate saying "Duh. You expect too much and it always comes back to bite you in the ass."
I'm tired. I'm working off of 2 hours' sleep pretty much every night at the moment, and though I'm so blissfully proud of my little family, my patience is being tested on a regular basis. What's easier about having another baby is that it's not the "unknown" anymore, so I can pretty much handle who needs what, and when and why. But it's the emotional burden that I have currently with L, my beautiful baby girl, my heart that lives outside of my person. Her needs are much more difficult to manage and figure out.
L is having a bit of a tough transition. She's teething, and on top of the new baby brother she has that requires a lot of attention, she has been on edge lately. It's really uncharacteristic of her to be like that, because she's a happy, giggly, tough little girl. But her personality cannot be labeled, and as such, she's needing some space to vent and show her frustration. I'm there for her whenever she needs me, and when I can be, but sometimes the opportunity for her to cuddle with me is met with "in a minute", and "wait a second", and "we can do that later, I need to...". It's met with a rather adult reaction: crossed hands, sitting down on the rug, reading a book, chanting "WAYt... WAYt..." with disappointment. I try and sit with her and read whilst feeding the baby for 45 minutes, I try and get her to draw, to interact, but she doesn't want it. She sits and waits until she has ALL of me to herself. It breaks my heart.
We went to the playground yesterday. Sun shining, snacks at hand, I was prepared. Except for the fact that the baby needed feeding at a certain time, and I forgot the bottle. Shit.
We were there for 40 minutes, and then I had to tell L we needed to get going. He heart was set on being on the swings for much longer. She was glued to the seat. I asked her if we could go because we needed to get home. Cue the unholiest, whirlwind of a tantrum I had ever seen come out of her. She was screaming, crying, throwing herself on the ground and pounding the grass with each heaving sob. I tried to comfort her, she pushed me away. I tried to lift her up, she melted away from me, dead weight (all you parents out there will know the "toddler melt".. it makes it that much harder to pick them up, and makes it look like you're dragging them). I had to scoop her up and put her in the buggy. As I was strapping her in, she was still screaming/moaning/making wild animal grunts and growls.
Now this buggy is a double, a side-by-side Baby Jogger that L absolutely loves, but in this moment, strapping her in was like the death sentence for her. She was kicking the footrest, trying to rip the straps off of her body. The mothers in the park gave me all-knowing smiles and sympathetic glances, but it was embarrassing. I gritted my teeth and walked away quickly, across the field, back to the main road. L was still screaming, and at this point, I broke my patience. I broke my vow of never yelling.
I stopped the buggy and knelt down at her height, grabbed her arm and yelled "STOP it! Enough yelling, you do not yell to get what you want!!" (the irony of that statement is so apparent). I sounded shrill and angry, and it was really unbecoming. She kept crying, but calmed down a little bit temporarily, before having another screaming tantrum 10 minutes later because she couldn't have ice cream before leaving the park. I gave up listening at that point and just soldiered home.
Did I get what I wanted out of her? I'm not so sure. I snapped her out of her self-induced hysterics, but does that do any long-term damage? Will she use yelling to get her point across when she's with friends? Will I become the mother who loses her shit just because of a wee tantrum? What does that say about me?
It's a constant juggle in my brain and in my spirit of trying to give L the patience she deserves, the time she needs, the mom she craves, whilst also tending to what my beautiful new boy needs. My two beautiful creatures are dividing up pieces of me, and though I try and tell people I can do it all, in reality, my heart feels sad that I can't satisfy both of them equally.
********************************************************
We had our first date night in a long time last night. And though I reluctantly left L and the boy with Nana, it was so good to put on some leather boots and a sexy short dress.
"Wow... I thought to myself who is that standing there..? You look really beautiful." he said as he strode up the stairs to meet me at the entrance to the subway.
He kissed me.
I blushed.
He held my hand as we walked to the theater.
We had a drink and talked... we saw a show, we talked some more afterwards, and he put his arm around me as we walked home.
Though sometimes it's hard stepping out of the house and leaving the kids for a bit, it gave me butterflies to feel his hand on mine and see in his eyes the love story that we're still writing.
*Luckily, this I can still pull off, to some degree, so at least that's one (vain) victory.
I swore up and down, before I had kids, that I would be the mom who would never yell. I would be the mom that would have the serene patience that other mothers would envy. I would never be shrill, never be stern, always teach my child the rules by being strict but ever so fair. I would be the mom that would always look like the boho-chic she was before kids, hair just-perfectly-messy, with dewy cheeks and sinewy body.*
Yeah. Hear that laughing? That's fate saying "Duh. You expect too much and it always comes back to bite you in the ass."
I'm tired. I'm working off of 2 hours' sleep pretty much every night at the moment, and though I'm so blissfully proud of my little family, my patience is being tested on a regular basis. What's easier about having another baby is that it's not the "unknown" anymore, so I can pretty much handle who needs what, and when and why. But it's the emotional burden that I have currently with L, my beautiful baby girl, my heart that lives outside of my person. Her needs are much more difficult to manage and figure out.
L is having a bit of a tough transition. She's teething, and on top of the new baby brother she has that requires a lot of attention, she has been on edge lately. It's really uncharacteristic of her to be like that, because she's a happy, giggly, tough little girl. But her personality cannot be labeled, and as such, she's needing some space to vent and show her frustration. I'm there for her whenever she needs me, and when I can be, but sometimes the opportunity for her to cuddle with me is met with "in a minute", and "wait a second", and "we can do that later, I need to...". It's met with a rather adult reaction: crossed hands, sitting down on the rug, reading a book, chanting "WAYt... WAYt..." with disappointment. I try and sit with her and read whilst feeding the baby for 45 minutes, I try and get her to draw, to interact, but she doesn't want it. She sits and waits until she has ALL of me to herself. It breaks my heart.
We went to the playground yesterday. Sun shining, snacks at hand, I was prepared. Except for the fact that the baby needed feeding at a certain time, and I forgot the bottle. Shit.
We were there for 40 minutes, and then I had to tell L we needed to get going. He heart was set on being on the swings for much longer. She was glued to the seat. I asked her if we could go because we needed to get home. Cue the unholiest, whirlwind of a tantrum I had ever seen come out of her. She was screaming, crying, throwing herself on the ground and pounding the grass with each heaving sob. I tried to comfort her, she pushed me away. I tried to lift her up, she melted away from me, dead weight (all you parents out there will know the "toddler melt".. it makes it that much harder to pick them up, and makes it look like you're dragging them). I had to scoop her up and put her in the buggy. As I was strapping her in, she was still screaming/moaning/making wild animal grunts and growls.
Now this buggy is a double, a side-by-side Baby Jogger that L absolutely loves, but in this moment, strapping her in was like the death sentence for her. She was kicking the footrest, trying to rip the straps off of her body. The mothers in the park gave me all-knowing smiles and sympathetic glances, but it was embarrassing. I gritted my teeth and walked away quickly, across the field, back to the main road. L was still screaming, and at this point, I broke my patience. I broke my vow of never yelling.
I stopped the buggy and knelt down at her height, grabbed her arm and yelled "STOP it! Enough yelling, you do not yell to get what you want!!" (the irony of that statement is so apparent). I sounded shrill and angry, and it was really unbecoming. She kept crying, but calmed down a little bit temporarily, before having another screaming tantrum 10 minutes later because she couldn't have ice cream before leaving the park. I gave up listening at that point and just soldiered home.
Did I get what I wanted out of her? I'm not so sure. I snapped her out of her self-induced hysterics, but does that do any long-term damage? Will she use yelling to get her point across when she's with friends? Will I become the mother who loses her shit just because of a wee tantrum? What does that say about me?
It's a constant juggle in my brain and in my spirit of trying to give L the patience she deserves, the time she needs, the mom she craves, whilst also tending to what my beautiful new boy needs. My two beautiful creatures are dividing up pieces of me, and though I try and tell people I can do it all, in reality, my heart feels sad that I can't satisfy both of them equally.
********************************************************
We had our first date night in a long time last night. And though I reluctantly left L and the boy with Nana, it was so good to put on some leather boots and a sexy short dress.
"Wow... I thought to myself who is that standing there..? You look really beautiful." he said as he strode up the stairs to meet me at the entrance to the subway.
He kissed me.
I blushed.
He held my hand as we walked to the theater.
We had a drink and talked... we saw a show, we talked some more afterwards, and he put his arm around me as we walked home.
Though sometimes it's hard stepping out of the house and leaving the kids for a bit, it gave me butterflies to feel his hand on mine and see in his eyes the love story that we're still writing.
*Luckily, this I can still pull off, to some degree, so at least that's one (vain) victory.
Tuesday 3 May 2011
Humbled. And sore.
I am awed by my capacity for love. And adoration. And exhaustion.
I have had my soul destroyed by falling in love with a tiny new fragile little person. I feel protective over him, in a much different way than I ever did with L. (And ironically, he is NOT a tiny baby, weighing in at just under 9 pounds).
I have also had my heart ripped out from an awesome weight of guilt on my shoulders, seeing L's reaction to the new person. She's confused, concerned, protective of me, of him, of her father... she paces the room, not knowing what to do when the baby cries, because she's not old enough yet to know that she can't just run up to him and hug him. She pats him and then hangs back, waiting for someone to put him to the side so she can focus on playing with us. It devastates me.
I hold him as he sleeps, and she'll sit next to me, with her own bottle of milk that she's requested, and I feel that she's half with me, and half trying to be independent (maybe forced to be?) and distant so she can show me that she's a big girl now.
But she's still my baby. They'll all be like that until they're 18, I'm sure. All my babies. All my beautiful unique little creatures.
I'm sure I'm reading into it, and months down the line our new perfect will have emerged. But the sleepless nights at the moment, my sore body, my heart that is spilling over with love and fear and joy... all of this is a hard test of transition and balance for us.
But at the moment, I do not take for granted how I'm blessed. And the tears running down my cheeks are unmistakeably filled with love (though the exhaustion seems much more apparent).
I have had my soul destroyed by falling in love with a tiny new fragile little person. I feel protective over him, in a much different way than I ever did with L. (And ironically, he is NOT a tiny baby, weighing in at just under 9 pounds).
I have also had my heart ripped out from an awesome weight of guilt on my shoulders, seeing L's reaction to the new person. She's confused, concerned, protective of me, of him, of her father... she paces the room, not knowing what to do when the baby cries, because she's not old enough yet to know that she can't just run up to him and hug him. She pats him and then hangs back, waiting for someone to put him to the side so she can focus on playing with us. It devastates me.
I hold him as he sleeps, and she'll sit next to me, with her own bottle of milk that she's requested, and I feel that she's half with me, and half trying to be independent (maybe forced to be?) and distant so she can show me that she's a big girl now.
But she's still my baby. They'll all be like that until they're 18, I'm sure. All my babies. All my beautiful unique little creatures.
I'm sure I'm reading into it, and months down the line our new perfect will have emerged. But the sleepless nights at the moment, my sore body, my heart that is spilling over with love and fear and joy... all of this is a hard test of transition and balance for us.
But at the moment, I do not take for granted how I'm blessed. And the tears running down my cheeks are unmistakeably filled with love (though the exhaustion seems much more apparent).
Sunday 1 May 2011
The end... and almost the beginning.
Today is May 1st, a gorgeous, sunny and crisp day.
Two days ago, we celebrated 5 years.
Today we might be celebrating day 1.
Keep you posted.
Two days ago, we celebrated 5 years.
Today we might be celebrating day 1.
Keep you posted.
Sunday 17 April 2011
Just us (well at this rate, I feel like I'm 3 people in one, so it's a big group.)
This weekend marked our last one as 3.
Lots of things are happening in the coming week(s).
I'm starting to get the dull, hazed, clumsy look of a pregnant woman now. It's as if a switch has been turned on (or off, really) in my brain. I'm clumsier now, more cumbersome. I'm walking slower, getting more Braxton Hicks (I call it the "bowling ball belly", because it feels like someone is stretching my skin over a bowling ball), and my hands, feet and face seem to be getting puffier. I get more out of breath when I run around after L, and it's frustrating. I know I should be relaxing, but if you know me, you know that that's a really hard thing to ask me to do.
He took a picture of me and L in the park this weekend, and holy shit, I look like I ate another person. He says I look beautiful, bless him, but I think it's because he's afraid I'll sit on him and break him in half. I feel so attractive and healthy and glowing... as long as I don't pass a mirror.
We went to the park. We did finger-painting. We had snacks. We hugged. We did IKEA-building (well, he did, really.). We organised. We cleaned. We laughed. We played. I had a few emotional-pregnant-lady meltdowns, but nothing that wasn't solved with a piece of chocolate and a hug.
It was a beautiful, poignant moment as a gang of three, before the new round of chaos, family and emotional whirlwinds.
I savoured every single second of it.
Lots of things are happening in the coming week(s).
I'm starting to get the dull, hazed, clumsy look of a pregnant woman now. It's as if a switch has been turned on (or off, really) in my brain. I'm clumsier now, more cumbersome. I'm walking slower, getting more Braxton Hicks (I call it the "bowling ball belly", because it feels like someone is stretching my skin over a bowling ball), and my hands, feet and face seem to be getting puffier. I get more out of breath when I run around after L, and it's frustrating. I know I should be relaxing, but if you know me, you know that that's a really hard thing to ask me to do.
He took a picture of me and L in the park this weekend, and holy shit, I look like I ate another person. He says I look beautiful, bless him, but I think it's because he's afraid I'll sit on him and break him in half. I feel so attractive and healthy and glowing... as long as I don't pass a mirror.
We went to the park. We did finger-painting. We had snacks. We hugged. We did IKEA-building (well, he did, really.). We organised. We cleaned. We laughed. We played. I had a few emotional-pregnant-lady meltdowns, but nothing that wasn't solved with a piece of chocolate and a hug.
It was a beautiful, poignant moment as a gang of three, before the new round of chaos, family and emotional whirlwinds.
I savoured every single second of it.
Friday 15 April 2011
Adoration: Part 2
When I was young, I imagined him to be like my father. Tall, dark hair, funny, loving and kind.
In highschool, I had my fair share of boyfriends (though I use the term loosely because nowadays the stuff that kids do together is so much more, umm, sophisticated than what happened then). Two of them were my first serious crushes.
At college, I fell madly in love. Or, what I thought was love at that very young age. But whatever it was, it affected me pretty badly. Both in good ways and in destructive ways.
I moved to New York City when I was 22, to live the life of a singer/actress/waitress and then subsequently fashion journalist. I met and dated lots of men/boys along the way, most of them were good guys, but didn't tick all the boxes. I still had an idea in my head of what I wanted, and preferably, I wanted him to be British. Why? No idea. I just felt like I was destined to live there. Somehow. A small part was probably this thing I had for Colin Firth/Christian Bale, and I thought the perfect guy would have everything that I had wanted when I was a young girl, plus live in a country that I had always dreamed about. That was my perfect, and my friends always made fun of me for being so picky.
I met a guy. We had a long relationship. He was a good guy. Did he do "it" for me? Not entirely. But I got married because, well, that's what you do when you're with someone for 4 years, right?
Mistake. We both knew it.
Luckily, after a year of torturing ourselves in the marriage, we both recognised that we needed to split. And though it felt pretty bleak at the time, it made me who I am today. It happened for a reason. It placed me in a perfect spot on that evening in June, 2005, when I went out to a work dinner for my new job.
I met him. Him. He was it. I knew it. Very tall, achingly handsome, funny (and, yes, British)...and I felt like I knew him from somewhere, oddly. Really knew him. I shook his hand, and the rest of the evening became a blur of smiles, conversations, drinks and what ifs...
3 months later, we talked about marriage.
8 months later, he proposed.
10 months later, we were married.
Not a day goes by where I don't get butterflies when I see him walk down the street to greet me, with that cat-like, long stride of his. He still kisses me the same way, after almost 6 years together, like he did when we were dating. I love the way he looks at me from across the room, head cocked to the side, like he's trying to memorize that star-like freckle on my cheek. He still places his hand on exactly that spot on my lower back that he knows will make me blush.
I took this picture the other day, and through the tears filling my eyes, I was radiating with so much happiness over what our love story created.
I found him.
And through him, I found her.
In highschool, I had my fair share of boyfriends (though I use the term loosely because nowadays the stuff that kids do together is so much more, umm, sophisticated than what happened then). Two of them were my first serious crushes.
At college, I fell madly in love. Or, what I thought was love at that very young age. But whatever it was, it affected me pretty badly. Both in good ways and in destructive ways.
I moved to New York City when I was 22, to live the life of a singer/actress/waitress and then subsequently fashion journalist. I met and dated lots of men/boys along the way, most of them were good guys, but didn't tick all the boxes. I still had an idea in my head of what I wanted, and preferably, I wanted him to be British. Why? No idea. I just felt like I was destined to live there. Somehow. A small part was probably this thing I had for Colin Firth/Christian Bale, and I thought the perfect guy would have everything that I had wanted when I was a young girl, plus live in a country that I had always dreamed about. That was my perfect, and my friends always made fun of me for being so picky.
I met a guy. We had a long relationship. He was a good guy. Did he do "it" for me? Not entirely. But I got married because, well, that's what you do when you're with someone for 4 years, right?
Mistake. We both knew it.
Luckily, after a year of torturing ourselves in the marriage, we both recognised that we needed to split. And though it felt pretty bleak at the time, it made me who I am today. It happened for a reason. It placed me in a perfect spot on that evening in June, 2005, when I went out to a work dinner for my new job.
I met him. Him. He was it. I knew it. Very tall, achingly handsome, funny (and, yes, British)...and I felt like I knew him from somewhere, oddly. Really knew him. I shook his hand, and the rest of the evening became a blur of smiles, conversations, drinks and what ifs...
3 months later, we talked about marriage.
8 months later, he proposed.
10 months later, we were married.
Not a day goes by where I don't get butterflies when I see him walk down the street to greet me, with that cat-like, long stride of his. He still kisses me the same way, after almost 6 years together, like he did when we were dating. I love the way he looks at me from across the room, head cocked to the side, like he's trying to memorize that star-like freckle on my cheek. He still places his hand on exactly that spot on my lower back that he knows will make me blush.
I took this picture the other day, and through the tears filling my eyes, I was radiating with so much happiness over what our love story created.
I found him.
And through him, I found her.
Tuesday 12 April 2011
Adoration
L is a bit fickle.
Unlike her father and myself, she likes her own space and isn't very touchy-feely. It tortures me sometimes, because we'll shower every part of her with kisses and she seems indifferent to it, and sometimes actively pushes us away if we're in "her space".
She's also quite tough on herself. If she falls and skins her knee on the pavement, she'll pick herself back up, kisses her hand with a "mwahhh" sound (as if to kiss the pain away by kissing her own hand), and runs off. If I ask her "are you okay?" she'll nod and say "yeah".
She does realise if she's hurt us (she's going through a hitting phase) and when she's scolded, because she says "sorry" and makes these sad eyes that break my heart into pieces, and then gives hugs and kisses, so I do know that she has a tender side to her.
I'm constantly amazed and equally confused as to who this little person is. She's a little like me in her open-mouthed wonder at little things, and a little like her father in her intensity. But 90% of her is completely unique and different, and independent. It makes me realise how quickly time passes in front of my eyes, and how I'm chasing her ever-increasing-in-height shadow down the path.
Yesterday afternoon, after being in the park all day in the sunshine, she was exhausted, so I sat her down on the rug and put on a favourite movie of hers and curled up behind her. If I'm honest, it was less of a way to calm her down and let her decompress before bedtime and more of a ploy for me to get in some time just watching her.
I curled up, making a C-shape behind her, whilst she sat in front of me by my chest, legs crossed, turning her head to smile at me every once in a while.
I let myself soak in the shape of her long limbs, the translucence of her pale skin showing her veins, the length of her eyelashes, the golden colour of her hair that shows just a hint of strawberry. I ran my hands down her back, amazed that it's not as tiny as I remember it to be. I wanted her to put her hand on my head, or my arm, and just stop fidgeting for a moment, wanting her to adore me like I do her. I know it'll come in time, but for now, I have to be sneaky and find these moments, where she's mine, all mine. And I get a second to worship her.
Unlike her father and myself, she likes her own space and isn't very touchy-feely. It tortures me sometimes, because we'll shower every part of her with kisses and she seems indifferent to it, and sometimes actively pushes us away if we're in "her space".
She's also quite tough on herself. If she falls and skins her knee on the pavement, she'll pick herself back up, kisses her hand with a "mwahhh" sound (as if to kiss the pain away by kissing her own hand), and runs off. If I ask her "are you okay?" she'll nod and say "yeah".
She does realise if she's hurt us (she's going through a hitting phase) and when she's scolded, because she says "sorry" and makes these sad eyes that break my heart into pieces, and then gives hugs and kisses, so I do know that she has a tender side to her.
I'm constantly amazed and equally confused as to who this little person is. She's a little like me in her open-mouthed wonder at little things, and a little like her father in her intensity. But 90% of her is completely unique and different, and independent. It makes me realise how quickly time passes in front of my eyes, and how I'm chasing her ever-increasing-in-height shadow down the path.
Yesterday afternoon, after being in the park all day in the sunshine, she was exhausted, so I sat her down on the rug and put on a favourite movie of hers and curled up behind her. If I'm honest, it was less of a way to calm her down and let her decompress before bedtime and more of a ploy for me to get in some time just watching her.
I curled up, making a C-shape behind her, whilst she sat in front of me by my chest, legs crossed, turning her head to smile at me every once in a while.
I let myself soak in the shape of her long limbs, the translucence of her pale skin showing her veins, the length of her eyelashes, the golden colour of her hair that shows just a hint of strawberry. I ran my hands down her back, amazed that it's not as tiny as I remember it to be. I wanted her to put her hand on my head, or my arm, and just stop fidgeting for a moment, wanting her to adore me like I do her. I know it'll come in time, but for now, I have to be sneaky and find these moments, where she's mine, all mine. And I get a second to worship her.
Tuesday 5 April 2011
37. Tick tock.
It's starting to feel very real.
It's sinking in how lucky I am to have been blessed with a handsome husband who's my running partner in this crazy ridiculous adventure, lucky to have a healthy and very happy little girl that constantly says "mama" with pure adoration, lucky to have a job, a house, some pocket money to spend. I never want to take any of this for granted.
This pregnancy has flown by, and though I've stopped to take it all in, take in each little swirl of anticipation and fear and joy, take in how amazing I feel and how much I've loved this second time around even more, take in each kick and stretch that the little one does in its little place under my ribs... the time is unforgiving in how quickly it passes.
L is growing so quickly and constantly testing my patience lately, and like every mother, I worry that I let my frustration and impatience eclipse the amazing feeling of her little hand touching mine. It won't be so little and pudgy forever. I need to remember that. In the chaos that is about to erupt in our house in a few weeks, I need to remember that L will always have her place as my first. My beautiful, independent little girl. My baby. The one that had a bit of a rough start in the world the first couple days, but managed to kick ass and take names. My little travelling companion that never tires of looking out the window on a road trip.
My life, our life, seems to be exploding in each direction at the moment: business, toddler, travel, baby, finding a bigger house.. and we perversely thrive on that kind of energy. But there are moments where we have very little left to give and have to dig really deep to find some light and laughter. It's there, I know it. It just needs a bit of a nudge to bring it to the surface.
Maybe if I remember how much I need to be thankful for, and how to breathe in these beautiful moments... maybe, just maybe, I'll find a way to slow the ticking clock a little bit. Can't hurt to try.
It's sinking in how lucky I am to have been blessed with a handsome husband who's my running partner in this crazy ridiculous adventure, lucky to have a healthy and very happy little girl that constantly says "mama" with pure adoration, lucky to have a job, a house, some pocket money to spend. I never want to take any of this for granted.
This pregnancy has flown by, and though I've stopped to take it all in, take in each little swirl of anticipation and fear and joy, take in how amazing I feel and how much I've loved this second time around even more, take in each kick and stretch that the little one does in its little place under my ribs... the time is unforgiving in how quickly it passes.
L is growing so quickly and constantly testing my patience lately, and like every mother, I worry that I let my frustration and impatience eclipse the amazing feeling of her little hand touching mine. It won't be so little and pudgy forever. I need to remember that. In the chaos that is about to erupt in our house in a few weeks, I need to remember that L will always have her place as my first. My beautiful, independent little girl. My baby. The one that had a bit of a rough start in the world the first couple days, but managed to kick ass and take names. My little travelling companion that never tires of looking out the window on a road trip.
My life, our life, seems to be exploding in each direction at the moment: business, toddler, travel, baby, finding a bigger house.. and we perversely thrive on that kind of energy. But there are moments where we have very little left to give and have to dig really deep to find some light and laughter. It's there, I know it. It just needs a bit of a nudge to bring it to the surface.
Maybe if I remember how much I need to be thankful for, and how to breathe in these beautiful moments... maybe, just maybe, I'll find a way to slow the ticking clock a little bit. Can't hurt to try.
Monday 7 March 2011
8 weeks to go. My heart races.
How did it all happen so fast?
I've gone from the whirlwind of working all week and being the mom that balances the baby, the nanny, the bills, the cooking, my projects.... to being the stay at home mom on maternity leave, spending every second with my beautiful little girl.
It's been hard, I'll admit, to change my brain into "patient mom" mode, where nothing happens on time. I have to be on her pace now, in her world. I have to calm down. And to be honest, this is a bit of a first for me.
I went back to work when L was 5 months. It was important for my brain, for my heart. It's the way I operate, when I can balance what I need with what everyone else needs. I'm not a stay-at-home mom, though I respect that loads of women out there do it every day, and I admire that.
So this new role for me is a tough one. I have to call on a lot of patience, a lot of diligence, a lot of creativity and stimulation for a kid who, at 16 months, already finds puzzles not enough of a challenge (I'm totally serious). I've had to grit my teeth a lot and not fly off the handle over spilled juice, emptied cupboards, tantrums and missed naps. I don't deserve a medal, people do it every day. But I find it a personal achievement to switch gears and slow down a bit. I'm learning.
I am in an abyss of extreme emotion at the moment as well, as I'm 32 weeks along and feeling anticipation, excitement, exhaustion, apprehension and euphoria over the next little person to join the family. What's it going to be like? How will the routines go? Will I be able to breastfeed this time? Will I be able to have my waterbirth? Will I be able to try and rest for the next weeks ahead before the labour so that I'm ready? Will I be a good, attentive mother?
All these questions race through my mind when L is asleep and I'm in a quiet house. I can only describe the feeling as the excitement of falling in love, but equally terrifying. I worry that I sometimes let L watch a bit too much TV, I worry that I'm not socialising her enough, I worry that when the new one comes along my head will spin in too many ways and I'll lose touch with what L needs. I've also noticed that I've been cleaning like a maniac, filing, organising, dreaming about crisp new bed linens and throw pillows and wanting to decorate L's room a bit. I think they call it nesting. The mister calls it crazy pregnant lady syndrome. He humors me, and I appreciate it.
I realise that I have to stop racing. My mind and my heart need to slow their pace and let L lead me to where she needs me to go. I'll figure it out if I let myself release control a bit and spend these next 8 weeks with her as beautifully and peacefully as I can.
I've gone from the whirlwind of working all week and being the mom that balances the baby, the nanny, the bills, the cooking, my projects.... to being the stay at home mom on maternity leave, spending every second with my beautiful little girl.
It's been hard, I'll admit, to change my brain into "patient mom" mode, where nothing happens on time. I have to be on her pace now, in her world. I have to calm down. And to be honest, this is a bit of a first for me.
I went back to work when L was 5 months. It was important for my brain, for my heart. It's the way I operate, when I can balance what I need with what everyone else needs. I'm not a stay-at-home mom, though I respect that loads of women out there do it every day, and I admire that.
So this new role for me is a tough one. I have to call on a lot of patience, a lot of diligence, a lot of creativity and stimulation for a kid who, at 16 months, already finds puzzles not enough of a challenge (I'm totally serious). I've had to grit my teeth a lot and not fly off the handle over spilled juice, emptied cupboards, tantrums and missed naps. I don't deserve a medal, people do it every day. But I find it a personal achievement to switch gears and slow down a bit. I'm learning.
I am in an abyss of extreme emotion at the moment as well, as I'm 32 weeks along and feeling anticipation, excitement, exhaustion, apprehension and euphoria over the next little person to join the family. What's it going to be like? How will the routines go? Will I be able to breastfeed this time? Will I be able to have my waterbirth? Will I be able to try and rest for the next weeks ahead before the labour so that I'm ready? Will I be a good, attentive mother?
All these questions race through my mind when L is asleep and I'm in a quiet house. I can only describe the feeling as the excitement of falling in love, but equally terrifying. I worry that I sometimes let L watch a bit too much TV, I worry that I'm not socialising her enough, I worry that when the new one comes along my head will spin in too many ways and I'll lose touch with what L needs. I've also noticed that I've been cleaning like a maniac, filing, organising, dreaming about crisp new bed linens and throw pillows and wanting to decorate L's room a bit. I think they call it nesting. The mister calls it crazy pregnant lady syndrome. He humors me, and I appreciate it.
I realise that I have to stop racing. My mind and my heart need to slow their pace and let L lead me to where she needs me to go. I'll figure it out if I let myself release control a bit and spend these next 8 weeks with her as beautifully and peacefully as I can.
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