I feel like I’m turning the pages of our calendar like a druggie on speed flicking the pages of a magazine. I feel like I’m living my life on fast forward. You give birth, a few days later you have a six month old, before you know it you’re planning your baby’s first birthday party, and then, lo and behold, he’s eighteen months!
At first I had a really hard time accepting that you only get to spend such a short amount of time with your adorable newborn, your pudgy six month old, and so on. Your baby gets the cutest hair, complete with rubbed off hair hole on the back of his head, or fluffy white blond hair that stands up on end, or just enough hair to make a mohawk in the bath before his hair gets too long, and then you’re on to the next to the next hair style. And the thing is, each stage seems to be the best one! It took a while for me to realize that it was actually Matt himself who I’d fallen in love with; the twinkle in his eye, his heavenly smell after the bath, the way only you can comfort him after a crash landing in to the flower bed, the way he resembles your husband and how lucky you feel to have the love of your life cloned in to your son. So I guess as long as you don’t change his shampoo or divorce your husband, you can fall asleep at night safe in the knowledge that although your baby is heading straight for the terrible twos, he’ll always, without fail, be able to melt your heart just by being the little angel or the little terror that he is.
1.
Thursday, July 9, 2009
Friday, June 5, 2009
Eating out with kids.
I’d been feeling fairly confident all week about eating out with Matt and was giddy with excitement looking forward to showing off my son in this lovely little restaurant, Chez Arnaud. I figured this was going to be something manageable and enjoyable, and I imagined us having a wonderful family time together. One to remember, for all the right reasons.
So yesterday we all went out to dinner and I fully expected to wow the whole restaurant and the staff with my adorable son. Things didn’t exactly go as planned. At the end of the evening, when we were getting up to leave, little Matt, who is still incredibly unsteady on his feet, was looking for something to hold on to and grabbed hold off the waiter’s crotch. My eyes almost popped out of my head when I saw my son clutching on to our waiter’s trousers to keep himself from falling over. I offered Matt my hand and he promptly replaced his left hand on the crotch with his right hand, and held his left hand out to me. Quickly dumping my baby bag, hand bag, and coat on the floor in order to free up my other hand for Matt, I extended both arms out to him. Stumbling closer to his mother, Matt tried to bring the crotch along with him. He wouldn’t let it go. Without letting myself think about what I had to do, I approached the waiter, and while avoiding all eye contact, I pried Matt’s fingers off this poor, poor man.
Jerome returned from paying the bill, and on seeing how flustered and sweaty I was, asked what was wrong. I quickly filled him in, tossed him the baby, and returned to our table to double our waiter’s tip. For the meantime, instead of eating out, I think we'll order in.
So yesterday we all went out to dinner and I fully expected to wow the whole restaurant and the staff with my adorable son. Things didn’t exactly go as planned. At the end of the evening, when we were getting up to leave, little Matt, who is still incredibly unsteady on his feet, was looking for something to hold on to and grabbed hold off the waiter’s crotch. My eyes almost popped out of my head when I saw my son clutching on to our waiter’s trousers to keep himself from falling over. I offered Matt my hand and he promptly replaced his left hand on the crotch with his right hand, and held his left hand out to me. Quickly dumping my baby bag, hand bag, and coat on the floor in order to free up my other hand for Matt, I extended both arms out to him. Stumbling closer to his mother, Matt tried to bring the crotch along with him. He wouldn’t let it go. Without letting myself think about what I had to do, I approached the waiter, and while avoiding all eye contact, I pried Matt’s fingers off this poor, poor man.
Jerome returned from paying the bill, and on seeing how flustered and sweaty I was, asked what was wrong. I quickly filled him in, tossed him the baby, and returned to our table to double our waiter’s tip. For the meantime, instead of eating out, I think we'll order in.
Wednesday, June 3, 2009
Revelations.
Can we go back to talking about those annoying advice giving ignoramuses? This is a subject that has, and I fear will always, plague me. I don’t know how to deal with them! I often wonder if my reaction to them (anger, hurt, disbelief) is a reflection of some insecurity of mine. Because why is it that silently cursing them in my head isn’t enough for me? Why is it I feel the need to confront them? For some reason I have the strongest urge to say to these people that their ignorance and stupidity doesn’t grant them the right to comment on people who are guilty only of being different from them. So my question is this: when is it OK to use the F word?
A few weeks ago during a beautiful, sunny stroll in one of Dijon’s most charming gardens, I came to a profound conclusion. As adults we will always have our own issues. No one ever scores a ten out of ten on their psyche exam. It’s normal to have a few complexes and insecurities. It’s normal to have an Achilles heal. And as parents the correct thing to do is do try and understand that as long as you’re functioning normally in society, you can quit reading your self-help books and worrying about your little problem areas. Hey, if you’re happy, you’re healthy. That’s my motto. The most important thing is that little blond babbling boy sitting up in his pushchair pointing at the ducks.
A few weeks ago during a beautiful, sunny stroll in one of Dijon’s most charming gardens, I came to a profound conclusion. As adults we will always have our own issues. No one ever scores a ten out of ten on their psyche exam. It’s normal to have a few complexes and insecurities. It’s normal to have an Achilles heal. And as parents the correct thing to do is do try and understand that as long as you’re functioning normally in society, you can quit reading your self-help books and worrying about your little problem areas. Hey, if you’re happy, you’re healthy. That’s my motto. The most important thing is that little blond babbling boy sitting up in his pushchair pointing at the ducks.
Friday, May 29, 2009
Heaven scent.
It’s the simple pleasures in life that float my boat. Midnight snuggles my sleepy little boy who magically transforms back in to a floppy newborn, albeit an 11kg one, when I pick him up in the middle of the night for a selfish mummy moment. Feeling the sweet, warm, heart melting sigh of my little cherub’s breath as he’s nuzzles in to my neck. And deciding whether he’ll have Spiderman or Superman bed sheets when the time comes for him to move up to a big boy bed. Taking him to school for the first time with a little backpack and a lunch box. Explaining to him what rain is, who Santa is, taking him skiing for the first time, watching Sesame Street videos with him. So much to look forward to!
Chapter Two
Now that I’m well and truly adjusted to life as a mother, I find myself trying to deal with all the unsolicited advice that comes my way from well-meaning people. This is something that I’m sure all parents can relate to. And yet, to a certain extent, we’re all guilty of it. Now when I offer advice to my friends, I start of with a disclaimer- “You may or may not wish to try X, Y, Z”. Or “Some people find X helpful when your baby’s teething”. Advice should never be forced upon someone with the words “You should” or You must”. A lot of my friends are pregnant at the moment and I remind myself that the best thing I can say to them is to try and trust their own instincts. Mother knows best. Period.
Now, how to deal with all the ignoramuses out there who just won’t stop telling you how to raise you child? Do you smile politely and agree that you’ll give their idea a go, while secretly repeating profanities over and over in your head? Do you confront them and explain that they had their kids over thirty years ago and that things are now different in 2009? Or do you simply reach for the nearest rock and take aim? I have to say that on this one I’m really torn. I don’t have the faintest idea how to handle these people. I guess what gets me is the thought that they might be judging me and obviously not like what they’re seeing. Why else would they scoot over to me and, while gently placing an unwanted hand on my knee, tell me everything I’m doing wrong and everything I need to do to do it right. Oh, I want to scream! People can be so ignorant. In this day and age we’ve got people from different cultures, different generations, and different backgrounds raising kids in the same neighborhoods. Why is it if you’re Jewish or Muslim nobody thinks twice when you explain that your kid can’t have a ham and cheese sandwich? But if you dare to raise your child as a vegetarian or as a vegan, everyone suddenly has the right to voice their opinion.
One of my trusty techniques is to defend myself with the words “This is exactly what my mother suggested.” So far that seems to stop people dead in their tracks. It ends the conversation immediately. And I’m free to resume my own way of doing things. I don’t want to have to justify why my husband and I took the decision to start brushing Matty’s teeth when he was a year old, or why I’m only just starting to wean Matt off his pacifier at seventeen months, or why I read stories to my sleeping newborn when I could have been catching up on sleep for myself? Why should I have to explain these things to anyone? I also tend to say to all the annoying busy bodies out there “Our pediatrician advised us to do this”. And I say this whether it’s true or not. “Our doctor told us to give him five cookies in a row. He says it’s a great way to keep him quiet when I go shopping.” Often people get the hint. Butt out, piss off, and keep your trap shut!
Now, how to deal with all the ignoramuses out there who just won’t stop telling you how to raise you child? Do you smile politely and agree that you’ll give their idea a go, while secretly repeating profanities over and over in your head? Do you confront them and explain that they had their kids over thirty years ago and that things are now different in 2009? Or do you simply reach for the nearest rock and take aim? I have to say that on this one I’m really torn. I don’t have the faintest idea how to handle these people. I guess what gets me is the thought that they might be judging me and obviously not like what they’re seeing. Why else would they scoot over to me and, while gently placing an unwanted hand on my knee, tell me everything I’m doing wrong and everything I need to do to do it right. Oh, I want to scream! People can be so ignorant. In this day and age we’ve got people from different cultures, different generations, and different backgrounds raising kids in the same neighborhoods. Why is it if you’re Jewish or Muslim nobody thinks twice when you explain that your kid can’t have a ham and cheese sandwich? But if you dare to raise your child as a vegetarian or as a vegan, everyone suddenly has the right to voice their opinion.
One of my trusty techniques is to defend myself with the words “This is exactly what my mother suggested.” So far that seems to stop people dead in their tracks. It ends the conversation immediately. And I’m free to resume my own way of doing things. I don’t want to have to justify why my husband and I took the decision to start brushing Matty’s teeth when he was a year old, or why I’m only just starting to wean Matt off his pacifier at seventeen months, or why I read stories to my sleeping newborn when I could have been catching up on sleep for myself? Why should I have to explain these things to anyone? I also tend to say to all the annoying busy bodies out there “Our pediatrician advised us to do this”. And I say this whether it’s true or not. “Our doctor told us to give him five cookies in a row. He says it’s a great way to keep him quiet when I go shopping.” Often people get the hint. Butt out, piss off, and keep your trap shut!
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
Introductions...
Whereas some people get writers block, I often find myself with a case of writer’s runs. I am very verbal. And when it comes to writing I get even more speedy, knowing that it’s just me and my laptop and my fingers slaving away for me. Like a runner on an open track, I’m free, fast and happy when left alone with my computer, typing away…
Like any new parent, my child is the center of my world and, of course, my favorite topic of conversation. I can talk for hours about my son. I adore him. He is the sweetest, cutest, most fascinating little person I’ve ever met. He is heaven!
When my little beautiful boy was born almost 18 months ago, my world changed for the better. I started to see new meaning in life. My priorities shifted. I matured. My marriage changed. Because now that we’ve been blessed with our little bundle of love, my husband and I understand that we were put on this earth to devote ourselves to caring for our son. And it’s a job that I embrace with every fiber of my being. I love being a mother.
Matt, (not his real name) is learning to walk, learning to feed himself, learning to talk, and very slowly, learning what Time-Out is all about. This is the age of discovery. And as for me, I’m learning the best way to teach him all these things. My view is that Matty needs support and gentle encouragement and he’ll reach his milestones in his own time. I have many dear, dear friends who let me know that nobody is keeping track of when baby X accomplishes sleeping through the night, and when baby Y rolls over for the first time, and when baby Z masters potty training. Too many mothers out there are so competitive and line their kids up like wind up toy cars and try and race them against each other to the finish line. Not me. For my husband and me, it’s our kid who’s got the gold medal. We lie in bed at night saying the same thing we’ve said since his birth- we got the best one. Love is such a powerful force. It’s a beautiful thing. It can heal you. Blind you. And quite simply, make everything alright. And I don’t take this for granted. Not for one second. When Matt was born he had to spend quite a bit of time in the hospital. So without going in to too much detail, I can tell you that this feeling of elation, of immense gratitude for my son, of celebration for his precious life and this incredible blessing that is little Matty, oh I don’t for a millisecond take the love and the kisses and the cuddles I have for him for granted.
Like any new parent, my child is the center of my world and, of course, my favorite topic of conversation. I can talk for hours about my son. I adore him. He is the sweetest, cutest, most fascinating little person I’ve ever met. He is heaven!
When my little beautiful boy was born almost 18 months ago, my world changed for the better. I started to see new meaning in life. My priorities shifted. I matured. My marriage changed. Because now that we’ve been blessed with our little bundle of love, my husband and I understand that we were put on this earth to devote ourselves to caring for our son. And it’s a job that I embrace with every fiber of my being. I love being a mother.
Matt, (not his real name) is learning to walk, learning to feed himself, learning to talk, and very slowly, learning what Time-Out is all about. This is the age of discovery. And as for me, I’m learning the best way to teach him all these things. My view is that Matty needs support and gentle encouragement and he’ll reach his milestones in his own time. I have many dear, dear friends who let me know that nobody is keeping track of when baby X accomplishes sleeping through the night, and when baby Y rolls over for the first time, and when baby Z masters potty training. Too many mothers out there are so competitive and line their kids up like wind up toy cars and try and race them against each other to the finish line. Not me. For my husband and me, it’s our kid who’s got the gold medal. We lie in bed at night saying the same thing we’ve said since his birth- we got the best one. Love is such a powerful force. It’s a beautiful thing. It can heal you. Blind you. And quite simply, make everything alright. And I don’t take this for granted. Not for one second. When Matt was born he had to spend quite a bit of time in the hospital. So without going in to too much detail, I can tell you that this feeling of elation, of immense gratitude for my son, of celebration for his precious life and this incredible blessing that is little Matty, oh I don’t for a millisecond take the love and the kisses and the cuddles I have for him for granted.
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