From the Blog
Each time I’ve been about to give birth something happens. My must-do-it-all-right-or-else streak rises like a hungry tiger. My mind whirs with pictures revolving around situations and scenarios where I will potentially fail–feeding, child wrangling, coping, relating to my husband, relating to anyone, washing my hair, sleeping…
Tonight feels like a writing-in night. All the windows and doors in our house are flung wide open to receive the southerly breeze, like weary arms eagerly awaiting an embrace from a long-lost friend. I am sitting at my desk by the large front windows, and for once my commercial-strength floor fan sits silent in front of me, while my keyboard alone taps a semi-rhythmic beat.
Being a parent can feel a little (okay a lot) like living in a continual revolving door: going round and round in circles, getting dizzier and dizzier by the moment, but rarely moving forward. Or at least in the way we commonly conceive forward to be.
The title of this blog post is the question that stopped me in my tracks today. It came from E. The impetus behind the question came from a comment I made to Dr M in the car without thinking after another nesting trip to the land of affordable storage and home organising solutions, a land that admittedly feels a little like Disneyland to me, and can exert a certain siren-call that overrides even the pressure of my tired, swollen feet. Ikea.
I’m guessing that what is true for me, is true for many others out there. That is, some of my most hypocritical moments happen when I am chastising my children for bad habits that I clearly haven’t overcome myself. For me, the guilt-feelings hit hardest when daughter E. sticks out her beautiful defiant jaw and bemoans, not once, but repeatedly: I need. I want. NOW! I then, in all my maturity and wisdom, reply, with a similar irritated inflection in my voice: patience, patience. Why can’t you just be PATIENT!
Perhaps it is only fitting that for my first entry in this space I begin with a reflection on the fact that I have absolutely no idea where this year is going. We’ve just wrapped up December 2014, untangled our feet from stray tinsel ends, picked up (hopefully) the last remaining fragment of torn paper and sticky tape from the carpet, and we are driving headlong into January 2015, complete with new diaries, new schedules and new hopes.
Each time I’ve been about to give birth something happens. My must-do-it-all-right-or-else streak rises like a hungry tiger. My mind whirs with pictures revolving around situations and scenarios where I will potentially fail–feeding, child wrangling, coping, relating to my husband, relating to anyone, washing my hair, sleeping…
Tonight feels like a writing-in night. All the windows and doors in our house are flung wide open to receive the southerly breeze, like weary arms eagerly awaiting an embrace from a long-lost friend. I am sitting at my desk by the large front windows, and for once my commercial-strength floor fan sits silent in front of me, while my keyboard alone taps a semi-rhythmic beat.
Being a parent can feel a little (okay a lot) like living in a continual revolving door: going round and round in circles, getting dizzier and dizzier by the moment, but rarely moving forward. Or at least in the way we commonly conceive forward to be.
The title of this blog post is the question that stopped me in my tracks today. It came from E. The impetus behind the question came from a comment I made to Dr M in the car without thinking after another nesting trip to the land of affordable storage and home organising solutions, a land that admittedly feels a little like Disneyland to me, and can exert a certain siren-call that overrides even the pressure of my tired, swollen feet. Ikea.
I’m guessing that what is true for me, is true for many others out there. That is, some of my most hypocritical moments happen when I am chastising my children for bad habits that I clearly haven’t overcome myself. For me, the guilt-feelings hit hardest when daughter E. sticks out her beautiful defiant jaw and bemoans, not once, but repeatedly: I need. I want. NOW! I then, in all my maturity and wisdom, reply, with a similar irritated inflection in my voice: patience, patience. Why can’t you just be PATIENT!
Perhaps it is only fitting that for my first entry in this space I begin with a reflection on the fact that I have absolutely no idea where this year is going. We’ve just wrapped up December 2014, untangled our feet from stray tinsel ends, picked up (hopefully) the last remaining fragment of torn paper and sticky tape from the carpet, and we are driving headlong into January 2015, complete with new diaries, new schedules and new hopes.
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