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It was Saturday morning and I awoke with a strange sense of dread. I was anxious, nervy. Sweaty palms, elevated heart rate, all twitchy. I couldn’t quite believe that I was so affected by the decision I had made the previous night! I agonized for hours over whether I was doing the right thing, which in itself was downright absurd! After all, I was just going to the movies……not the dentist, not the doctor, just the cinema. The problem was that I was planning on taking Mr. 27 months with me!
I booked two tickets online to see BEE MOVIE, a full length feature film in the middle of the city, with nowhere to run and nowhere to hide if it all went pear-shaped! It was going to be his first foray into a Hoyts Cinema Complex and I was absolutely certain that it was going to be the biggest mistake of my life. I didn’t know how I was going to keep him still, I didn’t know how I was going to keep him quiet. I just packed lots of snacks and lots of courage and prayed with everything I had, that the silver screen would work its magic on my son as it did on me many moons ago!
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I never thought I would ever do it, purely because I was convinced Mr. 27 months would never demonstrate behavior that was bad enough to warrant it. I never thought I would ever do it, mainly because I really thought I would be able to captain any situation, when it arose, without having to resort to ‘those kind’ of measures. I never thought, not in a million years, that I would do it, predominantly because I learned about it from watching some witless show on TV.
We now have a ‘naughty chair’ in our house.
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Mr. 27 months is a yoghurt fanatic and has a particular preference for the Baby Yoplait brand. He loves to scoop up fluffy clouds of vanilla cream and shovel spoonfuls, with great force, into his impatient beak. Berries are a necessary and crucial accompaniment. He feverishly gathers handfuls of freshly washed baubles and shrieks with glee as he watches them tumble deep into his pot of dairy goodness, smothering them joyfully in velvety white promises.
I willingly provide tubs of the stuff on a daily basis, knowing that the yoghurt is providing Mr. 27 months with the right fuel for his little growing body and I do relish in the ooh’s and aah’s that spill forth from his appreciative munching jaws.
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I often lie awake at night and get carried away with my thoughts. Sometimes, I unwittingly conjure up images in my head of bad stuff happening to Mr. 26 months and I end up shedding a few tears as I drift off into another restless slumber. I can drive myself nuts about what lies around the next corner for Mr. 26 months and his insatiable appetite for all things ‘new’.
Drowning, kidnapping, falling, tumbling, blood. Attacked by dogs, attacked by kids, attacked by life. Hating school, loving trouble. Loving her, hating me. Smoking. Drinking. Drugs. Scenarios ranging from the supremely absurd to the profoundly ridiculous. Things that at the end of the day are really, truly and most painfully completely out of my control!
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It was pure bliss. A day of exhilarating indulgence. It commenced with a hot stone therapy massage followed by a luxurious paraffin wax spa pedicure and then an a-la-carte rejuvenating facial. All conducted in an individualized treatment room filled with the bouquet of my personally chosen aromatic oils. Between sessions I sat in my 1000-count pure cotton robe and sipped organic chamomile and mandarin tea until I drowned!
It really was an exuberant experience and a well crafted and carefully chosen gift from my doting family. It was a chance for me to relax, unwind, clear my mind of all things parenting. To put myself first. To aknowledge the immediacy of time, the here and now.
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The festive season has been and gone. And I for one, am thankful. Thankful and relieved. No more presents to buy, to wrap, to hide. No more post office queues, no more planning, arranging and over-managing the ‘day’. No more explaining to Mr. 26 months why you cannot snatch Christmas baubles from the David Jones Christmas tree, no more reprimanding him for throwing baubles across heavily laden counter tops in Myer. And thank goodness, no more Santa Claus!!
Mr. Claus is the archenemy in our house. He has been ever since Mr. 26 months set eyes on him in early December at the local shopping complex. One fleeting glimpse of Santa, and my pocket rocket took an immediate dislike, nay, an immediate unwillingness to be within 100m of the man, to look at pictures of the man, to hear the man’s name mentioned in casual conversation. Mr. 26 months has boycotted Santa Claus for life!!
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Years ago, I read a book called ‘Feel the Fear and Do it Anyway’ by Susan Jeffers. It had a notable effect on me at the time and I have referred back to it many times since it first fell into my lap all those years ago.
I took a deep breath and organized a play date with the bully and his mum. There were many, many reasons I was fearful about this play date, and all with good reason too! I feared for the safety of Mr. 25 months….for his little developing body and his little developing mind, and I feared for my friendship with the bully’s mother. Most of all I was simply afraid that I was not actually going to resolve anything at all with this play date and that the outcome would be nothing short of disastrous!
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A couple of months ago, I wrote a post about playground bullies. Iridescent to a trained eye, you can see them as they circumnavigate the playfield, observing their prey, waiting for the right opportunity to pounce! These are the anonymous villains who attack randomly, without hesitation.
There is now a new class of bully in my midst. The big difference is that this one has a name. He has a face. He is the child of a friend of mine! And by far, he is the nastiest toddler terrorist I have ever clapped eyes on. He is cunning, he is ruthless, he is strong. Only a toddler himself, he is crafty and calculating, always patrolling his surroundings with his cold little eyes. When he is sure that no one of significance is watching, he makes his move.
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Contrary to my recent behavior, I haven’t fallen off the face of the earth. I am still here. I am still me. It’s not that I haven’t wanted to blog, it’s just that life got in the way. It does that sometimes.
All my writing opportunities this past week have been thwarted, mainly by Mr. 24 months, who has suddenly realized that he doesn’t need his mother to think for him anymore! In fact, Mr. 24 months has decided that life is much more fun if nobody is thinking at all (least of all him), and if nobody is thinking then no one needs to worry about the consequences of any actions, should they occur. Nobody except me. The ever-present, ever-persistent, parent!
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I don’t want to be a mother today.
I don’t want to be a wife or a blogger or a Woolworth’s shopper. I don’t want to clean nappies. I don’t want to see nappies; I don’t want to smell them! I don’t want to be asked ‘why’ to every little thing I say. I don’t want to have to say every little thing twenty times. I don’t want to talk. I don’t want to sing or to read or to use my voice at all.
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52 Posts dating from September 2007
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