I'm reading Diane Awerbuck's Home Remedies. I'm a few tens of pages in but so far, she's unflinching (that reviewer's word) in her portrayal of the downsides of the early years of childrearing. I'm reading it with a sense of "she didn't just admit that out loud, did she?".
Today I admitted to my husband for the first time, after watching Felix do a "show" (he has two walking robots, he sets them up opposite each other and one knocks the other one down. It was incredibly cute the first 5 times, fun to show the grandparents, okay the next 50 times and is now, embroidered-upon and extended into the maxi version complete with intro, curtains, and barked instructions from the littlest theatre director nazi, a fucking completely stressful waste of life to watch), while we were rolling our eyes at the sibling fighting and the endless waiting that accompanied the "show", that much of childcare is stultifyingly boring, and that time drags on from must-survive-this-hour to must-survive-the-next pretty often, actually, in a normal day for me. I don't mean to moan (see how hesitant I am about admitting my biggest perceived parental shortcoming). I really do love my children more than I ever thought I could. My life has changed completely, I imagine terrible scenarios to the extent that I can't sleep or relax unless I am actually with them. I can sleep when they are asleep, pretty much. But, still, you know?
She - Awerbuck's character - then finds herself enjoying a cross-the-road lesson with a two-year-old. Suddenly, a creak of pleasure enters the parenting adventure for her.
My creaks of pleasure have also been increasing exponentially. I wondered if it was merely the children getting older, or us getting used to the parenting groove, or growing in confidence since we had two children (although parents with one child also seem to benefit from the "it-gets-easier" meme).
One of the ways I realise I am handling better is how I react to people who comment on various child-related things. (viz: with a sense that it's all much less of a big deal than when I freaked out when people told me well-meaning platitudes about newborn Felix, like that he was "spoilt" and suchlike).
Out at the shops, Richie wanted a plum from the punnet I had put into the trolley. Richie actually asking for human, healthy food is nearly unheard of so I opened the packet and gave him one. He took a good few bites before discarding it, then demanded "another one". I told him he could have his current one. I must do this, otherwise I am the sucker who ends up eating five plums with one bite missing each, and that's really not good for my New Year weight loss goals. (And of course I am such a Calvinist that I must eat the plum which I know my children will no longer touch. Somehow, this Calvinism states that it is morally superior to place food that you paid for inside your own body, even though you may not need it, that it must pass through your own digestive system rather than through that of a bird in the garden or cede its nutrients straight back into the earth on the compost heap.) On cue, he started wailing.
A lady in the shop looked at me and said, "How can you bear that little crying face? He is so cute!" I sort of nodded sympathetically but said I'd be more worried if it was Felix sobbing his eyes out, that little Richie was the more robust emotionally (subtext: trust me, lady, this kid is trying his luck for all of five seconds before his eyes land on the chocolate counter. He may look as if he's suffering great psychic distress but I know he is going to be just fine.)
But do you know what happened? Her eyes actually filled with tears as she told me that, out of her two boys, her youngest was the one who would cry giant, silent tears, and how it used to break her heart.
Later, Richie was getting tired and demanded "pick up!" while Felix was walking next to me. A man approached me: "Hayi, you are contributing to xenophobia!" he joked with me. "How is that?" I asked, smiling. "You can't pick up the little one and not the big one. No, you must put the big one on your other arm, like this," he explained, and feigned picking up Felix, who quickly shied away and explained that he "didn't need pick up right now, actually".
Those two little incidents gave me such comfort. One, because I realised I didn't feel terribly judged or scared or insecure or worried I was doing it wrong. Somehow, trust and confidence have arrived, that I can evaluate the situation more or less correctly most of the time, that I know my children well enough. And also, perspective: that everyone who encounters everyone else does so with their own histories. That lady with the tears in her eyes - I worried that something had happened to her youngest child, or that perhaps they had simply grown up and she was missing the dependence of the little-kid stage. That man, I thought, is probably an eldest child himself, naturally drawn towards protecting the interests of the elder.
Or, and more likely, I myself am projecting, as an eldest child and a person who knows bereavement, imagined lives onto these two strangers.
But be that as it may, it ceased to matter all that much. A small interaction remained a small interaction (except for here, where I am free to overanalyse at will!) What a lovely, relaxing place to get to.
My friend-in-computer, who I had the pleasure of meeting in Cape Town over our holidays, Tania of www.manythingsIam.org, mentioned the matter of New Year's resolutions and how she likes to choose a word for the "theme" of her year. I really liked that. I thought perhaps my word would be "guilt-free".
From not worrying over every single parenting choice I make, to approaching weight loss and nicotine addiction and work-parenting balance, it seems to fit. And it's a positive way to look at goals rather than a deprivation-based one.
Specifically with Richie, I have looked back over the past year and seen how the weirdness of disability has become the norm for me and our family - and that's a good thing. (There has been therapy.) When a kind-hearted lady, PMSing that day, missing her kids, tearfully advocates for Richie, I will never know if it's because she's seen the splints and is doing the "Ag shame, how can that witch of a mother treat the poor disabled kid like that" or not. In the end, I need to understand that it's the lot of a FLK (funny-looking kid) to always be looked at. Richie's life will be an observed one. What he does with that, time will tell. But I can't change that fact.
But I can put that circumstance where it belongs: there, but not always completely central. If I can be guilt-free in treating Richie as the spunky little individual he is, I think that's progress, too.
Today I admitted to my husband for the first time, after watching Felix do a "show" (he has two walking robots, he sets them up opposite each other and one knocks the other one down. It was incredibly cute the first 5 times, fun to show the grandparents, okay the next 50 times and is now, embroidered-upon and extended into the maxi version complete with intro, curtains, and barked instructions from the littlest theatre director nazi, a fucking completely stressful waste of life to watch), while we were rolling our eyes at the sibling fighting and the endless waiting that accompanied the "show", that much of childcare is stultifyingly boring, and that time drags on from must-survive-this-hour to must-survive-the-next pretty often, actually, in a normal day for me. I don't mean to moan (see how hesitant I am about admitting my biggest perceived parental shortcoming). I really do love my children more than I ever thought I could. My life has changed completely, I imagine terrible scenarios to the extent that I can't sleep or relax unless I am actually with them. I can sleep when they are asleep, pretty much. But, still, you know?
She - Awerbuck's character - then finds herself enjoying a cross-the-road lesson with a two-year-old. Suddenly, a creak of pleasure enters the parenting adventure for her.
My creaks of pleasure have also been increasing exponentially. I wondered if it was merely the children getting older, or us getting used to the parenting groove, or growing in confidence since we had two children (although parents with one child also seem to benefit from the "it-gets-easier" meme).
One of the ways I realise I am handling better is how I react to people who comment on various child-related things. (viz: with a sense that it's all much less of a big deal than when I freaked out when people told me well-meaning platitudes about newborn Felix, like that he was "spoilt" and suchlike).
Out at the shops, Richie wanted a plum from the punnet I had put into the trolley. Richie actually asking for human, healthy food is nearly unheard of so I opened the packet and gave him one. He took a good few bites before discarding it, then demanded "another one". I told him he could have his current one. I must do this, otherwise I am the sucker who ends up eating five plums with one bite missing each, and that's really not good for my New Year weight loss goals. (And of course I am such a Calvinist that I must eat the plum which I know my children will no longer touch. Somehow, this Calvinism states that it is morally superior to place food that you paid for inside your own body, even though you may not need it, that it must pass through your own digestive system rather than through that of a bird in the garden or cede its nutrients straight back into the earth on the compost heap.) On cue, he started wailing.
A lady in the shop looked at me and said, "How can you bear that little crying face? He is so cute!" I sort of nodded sympathetically but said I'd be more worried if it was Felix sobbing his eyes out, that little Richie was the more robust emotionally (subtext: trust me, lady, this kid is trying his luck for all of five seconds before his eyes land on the chocolate counter. He may look as if he's suffering great psychic distress but I know he is going to be just fine.)
But do you know what happened? Her eyes actually filled with tears as she told me that, out of her two boys, her youngest was the one who would cry giant, silent tears, and how it used to break her heart.
Later, Richie was getting tired and demanded "pick up!" while Felix was walking next to me. A man approached me: "Hayi, you are contributing to xenophobia!" he joked with me. "How is that?" I asked, smiling. "You can't pick up the little one and not the big one. No, you must put the big one on your other arm, like this," he explained, and feigned picking up Felix, who quickly shied away and explained that he "didn't need pick up right now, actually".
Those two little incidents gave me such comfort. One, because I realised I didn't feel terribly judged or scared or insecure or worried I was doing it wrong. Somehow, trust and confidence have arrived, that I can evaluate the situation more or less correctly most of the time, that I know my children well enough. And also, perspective: that everyone who encounters everyone else does so with their own histories. That lady with the tears in her eyes - I worried that something had happened to her youngest child, or that perhaps they had simply grown up and she was missing the dependence of the little-kid stage. That man, I thought, is probably an eldest child himself, naturally drawn towards protecting the interests of the elder.
Or, and more likely, I myself am projecting, as an eldest child and a person who knows bereavement, imagined lives onto these two strangers.
But be that as it may, it ceased to matter all that much. A small interaction remained a small interaction (except for here, where I am free to overanalyse at will!) What a lovely, relaxing place to get to.
My friend-in-computer, who I had the pleasure of meeting in Cape Town over our holidays, Tania of www.manythingsIam.org, mentioned the matter of New Year's resolutions and how she likes to choose a word for the "theme" of her year. I really liked that. I thought perhaps my word would be "guilt-free".
From not worrying over every single parenting choice I make, to approaching weight loss and nicotine addiction and work-parenting balance, it seems to fit. And it's a positive way to look at goals rather than a deprivation-based one.
Specifically with Richie, I have looked back over the past year and seen how the weirdness of disability has become the norm for me and our family - and that's a good thing. (There has been therapy.) When a kind-hearted lady, PMSing that day, missing her kids, tearfully advocates for Richie, I will never know if it's because she's seen the splints and is doing the "Ag shame, how can that witch of a mother treat the poor disabled kid like that" or not. In the end, I need to understand that it's the lot of a FLK (funny-looking kid) to always be looked at. Richie's life will be an observed one. What he does with that, time will tell. But I can't change that fact.
But I can put that circumstance where it belongs: there, but not always completely central. If I can be guilt-free in treating Richie as the spunky little individual he is, I think that's progress, too.
This is a speech David Foster Wallace once gave. It gets really good about a third of the way in, and then just keeps on getting better. (As, I hope, child-rearing does.)
ReplyDeletehttp://moreintelligentlife.com/story/david-foster-wallace-in-his-own-words
That is fantastic. Thank you!
DeleteThis comment has been removed by the author.
DeleteAwesome! Ek hoop ek kom eendag op hierdie punt. My kleinding is nou amper 5 maande out, en ek's so vrek bang mense oordeel my. Wat maak dit saak of hulle my oordeel of nie, ek is seker my dogtertjie sal okei uitdraai op die ou end.
ReplyDeleteCongrats, Ronel! Natuurlik sal sy!
ReplyDeleteGo, you!
ReplyDeleteMy daughter is 3 now and I'm definitely feeling a lot less 'judged' these days. Parenting is definitely getting easier. And trust me I struggle with all the same things. I often wonder how my Mother did it....
ReplyDeleteYour last sentence sums it up so well. I think that in itself means you're doing a great job!
ReplyDeleteHeres to guilt free parenting!
ReplyDeleteAahh, I only saw this now, thank you!
ReplyDeleteI love how describe these random people you meet, there's plenty of interesting, caring people out there when we get our own shit out of the way and not feel so bloody judged all the time.