Like almost everything bad I’ve experienced in life, there is inevitably some good somewhere hidden in all the crap. It happens with the little things. It happens with the big things. Take the little bad things. The other day I was literally in the middle of texting my husband that I was having the worst day of motherhood to date – my toddler having thrown the mother of all tantrums in Tesco exposing me to the butt of all those looks of sympathy / ‘what a bad mother she is’ and I was now trying to feed said toddler and rebellious baby who was point blank refusing to eat anything I waved in the vicinity of her mouth, when, between me threatening to either abandon them in the café and go for a drink or cry, a lovely woman came up to me and said, “What beautiful girls you have, and so good to sit there quietly.” I looked at her as if she’d sprouted a snout and begun to fly. My girls? Good? And I looked at them and there they were, being all beautiful and good and gorgeous. She changed the course of the day for all three of us.
It’s like when you are confronted with the hugest, smelliest, mind-of-its-own poo-ey nappy and you look up to check it’s not actually a large sewer infested alien on the change mat and you get the smile to melt your heart and a gurgle of delight that makes you laugh in your soul. It’s like when my mum lost her handbag recently while looking after my girls. I felt guilty, she was distraught and our annoyance hung in the air and spoiled our day. And then there was a knock on the door. And there was a woman and there was my mum’s handbag and we smiled at how good people can be.
And then there’s the big things. My recent miscarriage was traumatic and terrible and terrifying, and also testament to the incredible spirit of love and friendship that surrounds me. My mum stroked my hair, my friends called and gave me hugs. People – so many people, sent me flowers. Others bought me chocolates. And people I’ve never even met wrote to me and sent me their love. Women shared their own stories of loss and I knew someone out there understood. In the midst of loss, I felt loved. Thank you all.
(c) AKG 2008
Thursday, August 28, 2008
Tuesday, August 19, 2008
Miscarriage of Justice
The last of the summer butterflies dance in the garden, fragile and beautiful.
Like a butterfly, my little baby was not destined for a long life. It’s time was measured in weeks, like a butterfly. And like a butterfly, she caught my breath as she danced and dipped into my dreams, fluttering and fragile… on her way out as soon as she began.
The moment I saw the scan I knew it was over. I knew my dream had died.
And like all things parenting, so little was in my control. Several days later, my body went into labour. I cried out in pain, I bent myself double and with the same horrific ease that you came to me, you slipped from my body, and fluttered away.
I still don’t know how to grieve for you. I still don’t know how to recognise you and live my life without you.
But for some reason, every time I see a butterfly I think of you and smile. And so it seems, you have shown me yourself. We already have two beautiful flowergirls, Daisy and Poppy. And just as our house jingles to the jangle of their laughter, so our garden sways in the splendid colours of red and pink and white and purple as daisies and poppies dance in the breeze. And I see a beautiful butterfly dance among them and I know you will always be with them. And I with you. My flutter butterfly.
(c) AKG 2008
Like a butterfly, my little baby was not destined for a long life. It’s time was measured in weeks, like a butterfly. And like a butterfly, she caught my breath as she danced and dipped into my dreams, fluttering and fragile… on her way out as soon as she began.
The moment I saw the scan I knew it was over. I knew my dream had died.
And like all things parenting, so little was in my control. Several days later, my body went into labour. I cried out in pain, I bent myself double and with the same horrific ease that you came to me, you slipped from my body, and fluttered away.
I still don’t know how to grieve for you. I still don’t know how to recognise you and live my life without you.
But for some reason, every time I see a butterfly I think of you and smile. And so it seems, you have shown me yourself. We already have two beautiful flowergirls, Daisy and Poppy. And just as our house jingles to the jangle of their laughter, so our garden sways in the splendid colours of red and pink and white and purple as daisies and poppies dance in the breeze. And I see a beautiful butterfly dance among them and I know you will always be with them. And I with you. My flutter butterfly.
(c) AKG 2008
Wednesday, August 6, 2008
The Two's - Terrible or terrific?
They’ve been so awful, for so long, for so many people, that the phrase ‘terrible twos’ has become fearfully familiar phraseology in the dictionary of parenthood, along with ‘teething toddler’ and ‘temper tantrums’.
So why are they so terrible? Why do they fill even the most stalwart of parents with dread and throw normally competent mums and dads into incompetent messes? And can we see through the mist of terror to appreciate the terrific theatre the Year of the Two can give us?
The main reason the Terrible Twos are just that, is because our little precious smiling amenable wobblers have now become little precocious screaming ambivalent warriors; tearaway terrors who have all the exuberance for exploration, all the indignation for independence and all the delight for discovery, but none of the fear or restraint yet required to keep a parent’s sanity intact. The second reason is of course our little babies have now become mere bundles of emotion. Extreme emotion is always difficult to handle and with the Terrible Twos there is nothing done unless it is extreme – extreme upset, extreme anger, extreme frustration, extreme unhappiness, and extreme jealously. And that’s just you. Your beloved has more emotion building up inside than their little bodies can contain so it explodes like a gas, hot air and pressure escaping in a teary tirade of tantrum.
Our toddlers have also discovered a vital piece of human physiology – willpower. And once they’ve got their little brains around that minefield, they ain’t letting go of it anytime soon. I bet I’m not the only parent who hears “I do it!” a hundred times a day. And with willpower comes another important lesson – for both of you. Testing of boundaries. They have to push you and push you and push you, and by doing so (if they haven’t pushed you over the edge of sanity) they will learn valuable lessons of life – right and wrong, good and bad, safe and dangerous.
A lot of tantrums are borne out of frustration – and again I mean the kids here! On the cusp of communicating, they know what they want and they know what they like, but it’s not always that easy to make you understand.
It’s also one of the trickiest ages to discipline. They’re got all of the ingredients for bad behaviour – energy, enthusiasm, temper, and willpower, but none of the reasoning and rationale needed for easy obedience. Let’s face it – the naughty step is a game to them, reward charts are meaningless because they can’t count their stars, and good old fashioned begging is a poor last resort. But the main reason the terrible twos are so hard is the plain fact that they are getting smarter and much harder to fool! Up until now you can tell as many little white lies as gets you through the day – it’s broken!; there are none left!; I promise we’ll go tomorrow!. Now they know that it just needs a new battery, that there are plenty left – and of course they remember your promises the next day. After promising my little girl she could have an ice-cream if she went to bed quietly, her first words the next morning were “ice-cream!” They were also her second, third, fourth and fifty-fifth.
Is it all bad though? If you catch us on a good moment, most mums of two year olds will smile warmly and claim it to be such a wonderful age! They are bursting with energy and enthusiasm for everything around them – so the exuberance can be a bit overwhelming for everyone, but who can resist laughing with joy as they splash through puddles, roll down hills, and bounce on the bed all with enchanting squeals of delight. It is only now, after months of being a ‘baby’ – all toothy grins and immobility – that their half-hidden personality is bursting through as they make jokes, perform to captive audiences and know just how to get you grinning despite yourself. Best of all, because their communication is developing the connection between you is increasing and there is no drug in the world to beat the feeling of love and elation when you teach your little one to do something for the first time and they look to you for approval, clapping their hands with joy and your eyes engage in the moment … it’s magical. For me the most amazing thing about this time is the incredible amount they are learning every day – new words, new understandings, new excitements.
So how do we cope? How do we minimise our desperation and maximise our delight when our bundles of joy become bundles of emotional overloads?
We have to let them win occasionally – there have to be some ‘yes’s’ amid the torrent of no’s. We have to become Masters of Deception – up the mental agility to deceive to achieve. We have to understand their frustrations and try and put ours aside a little. They are learning, they are on the bottom rung of the command chain, constantly being told what to do, what not to do, being pulled and pushed this way and that. Let them be the boss (when it suits us!!), make some choices, and decide what cereal to have for breakfast. Help them up the first rung to becoming a little person in their own right. Be strong and firm though and make sure their boundaries are clear and consistently kept. We won’t be doing anyone any favours (especially them) by giving in to them all the time. They have to learn what is acceptable and unacceptable behaviour – that’s our job. We are parents first, and friends second.
Finally we have to find the humour in everything they do. Even in the midst of a temper burst, they can be a one-person entertainment show. It’s not going to last forever… so take a deep breath, and take it all in. Before we know it they’ll be moody teenagers and we’ll be wishing they were two again!
Like all things in motherhood, it’s a little terrible and a lot terrific. Enjoy it when we can. It will only last a year. For every time our toddlers throw a tantrum there’ll be plenty of other times they’ll make us laugh – often at the same time!
Published in Modern Mum, Summer 2008
(c) AKG 2008
So why are they so terrible? Why do they fill even the most stalwart of parents with dread and throw normally competent mums and dads into incompetent messes? And can we see through the mist of terror to appreciate the terrific theatre the Year of the Two can give us?
The main reason the Terrible Twos are just that, is because our little precious smiling amenable wobblers have now become little precocious screaming ambivalent warriors; tearaway terrors who have all the exuberance for exploration, all the indignation for independence and all the delight for discovery, but none of the fear or restraint yet required to keep a parent’s sanity intact. The second reason is of course our little babies have now become mere bundles of emotion. Extreme emotion is always difficult to handle and with the Terrible Twos there is nothing done unless it is extreme – extreme upset, extreme anger, extreme frustration, extreme unhappiness, and extreme jealously. And that’s just you. Your beloved has more emotion building up inside than their little bodies can contain so it explodes like a gas, hot air and pressure escaping in a teary tirade of tantrum.
Our toddlers have also discovered a vital piece of human physiology – willpower. And once they’ve got their little brains around that minefield, they ain’t letting go of it anytime soon. I bet I’m not the only parent who hears “I do it!” a hundred times a day. And with willpower comes another important lesson – for both of you. Testing of boundaries. They have to push you and push you and push you, and by doing so (if they haven’t pushed you over the edge of sanity) they will learn valuable lessons of life – right and wrong, good and bad, safe and dangerous.
A lot of tantrums are borne out of frustration – and again I mean the kids here! On the cusp of communicating, they know what they want and they know what they like, but it’s not always that easy to make you understand.
It’s also one of the trickiest ages to discipline. They’re got all of the ingredients for bad behaviour – energy, enthusiasm, temper, and willpower, but none of the reasoning and rationale needed for easy obedience. Let’s face it – the naughty step is a game to them, reward charts are meaningless because they can’t count their stars, and good old fashioned begging is a poor last resort. But the main reason the terrible twos are so hard is the plain fact that they are getting smarter and much harder to fool! Up until now you can tell as many little white lies as gets you through the day – it’s broken!; there are none left!; I promise we’ll go tomorrow!. Now they know that it just needs a new battery, that there are plenty left – and of course they remember your promises the next day. After promising my little girl she could have an ice-cream if she went to bed quietly, her first words the next morning were “ice-cream!” They were also her second, third, fourth and fifty-fifth.
Is it all bad though? If you catch us on a good moment, most mums of two year olds will smile warmly and claim it to be such a wonderful age! They are bursting with energy and enthusiasm for everything around them – so the exuberance can be a bit overwhelming for everyone, but who can resist laughing with joy as they splash through puddles, roll down hills, and bounce on the bed all with enchanting squeals of delight. It is only now, after months of being a ‘baby’ – all toothy grins and immobility – that their half-hidden personality is bursting through as they make jokes, perform to captive audiences and know just how to get you grinning despite yourself. Best of all, because their communication is developing the connection between you is increasing and there is no drug in the world to beat the feeling of love and elation when you teach your little one to do something for the first time and they look to you for approval, clapping their hands with joy and your eyes engage in the moment … it’s magical. For me the most amazing thing about this time is the incredible amount they are learning every day – new words, new understandings, new excitements.
So how do we cope? How do we minimise our desperation and maximise our delight when our bundles of joy become bundles of emotional overloads?
We have to let them win occasionally – there have to be some ‘yes’s’ amid the torrent of no’s. We have to become Masters of Deception – up the mental agility to deceive to achieve. We have to understand their frustrations and try and put ours aside a little. They are learning, they are on the bottom rung of the command chain, constantly being told what to do, what not to do, being pulled and pushed this way and that. Let them be the boss (when it suits us!!), make some choices, and decide what cereal to have for breakfast. Help them up the first rung to becoming a little person in their own right. Be strong and firm though and make sure their boundaries are clear and consistently kept. We won’t be doing anyone any favours (especially them) by giving in to them all the time. They have to learn what is acceptable and unacceptable behaviour – that’s our job. We are parents first, and friends second.
Finally we have to find the humour in everything they do. Even in the midst of a temper burst, they can be a one-person entertainment show. It’s not going to last forever… so take a deep breath, and take it all in. Before we know it they’ll be moody teenagers and we’ll be wishing they were two again!
Like all things in motherhood, it’s a little terrible and a lot terrific. Enjoy it when we can. It will only last a year. For every time our toddlers throw a tantrum there’ll be plenty of other times they’ll make us laugh – often at the same time!
Published in Modern Mum, Summer 2008
(c) AKG 2008
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