The Twenty-Fourth Month: October 2006
2nd
You were miserable today. Your snuffles of last week have developed into a full on cold and cough, with lots of dribbling. Now you also have nappy rash. This might explain why you have been waking in the night the past two weeks – at the oddest of hours: 1.20am, 4am. We are all exhausted and I am reconnecting with the zombified feeling of the early months, when you breastfed several times nightly. I think your molars are coming through.
Well, you and Papa went to Glasgow on the plane on Saturday to attend the 1st birthday party of John L.s granddaughter Emily. Your 24-hour trip away gave me the longest time I have had to myself since you came into our lives. It was also our first night apart. I went to Bath to mooch around the shops and met Sandra, Phelim and Ellen for lunch. It was lovely to feel I didn’t have to be back at a certain time, that I could browse, and wander aimlessly. Of course, I spent a lot of time looking at other parents and children in buggies and seeing things that I thought you would love (like the huge playground in Victoria Park).
I seem to be in the habit of going to bed too late (11.30pm), or if earlier, lie in bed unable to get to sleep, then wake at 4.30am, and again cannot get back to sleep, so I feel I am dragging myself along in the day time. On the night you were away, I woke at 6am when I heard cry. I was convinced it was you. I went back into a snooze, but got up at 8am to go back to bed with toast and cocoa, and the Saturday papers. Later I went to the cinema, (the Devil wears Prada) before you returned at 12.00.
New toy: P has installed Video Skype on the computer. This meant that this afternoon when you woke from your cot nap, full of tears and crying’ I want to see Papa/Pappy’, I could bring you downstairs and dial Papa’s office, and we could chat and see each other on the computer screens.
This morning you were at the office with Papa. Tuesdays he gives you your muesli, dresses you and takes you to work for 2 – 4 hours, although you have recently started creating havoc there, in spite of him setting up train sets etc for you. Today apparently you strew your sandwiches across the floor.
Language:
I said no to more halloumi cheese at supper (you were about to pinch more off my plate) and your response was -
“Go away naughty mummy!”
I wonder who has been saying that to you? I have stopped myself from saying naughty, as I thought this would backfire. Also it doesn’t really mean anything – a child does not learn anything about their behaviour if it is described as ‘naughty’.
3rd
Today: Lucytime, then a visit to the Farm, meeting Pippa for lunch. You fell off the ladder in the playground onto bark chippings, but were basically alright. As soon as we arrived you said ‘holding hands with Kit’, which is what you did last time we visited in July with C + Kit. I am surprised by your memory, and that you recognize places, but why should that be different from adults?
You were so unhappy when you woke from your nap. ‘I want to see Papa’. It took an hour to console you. Eventually you agreed to look at the Peepo book with me ‘dyess’ you said in your enthusiastic high voice.
Papa came home when you were eating supper. I whispered in your ear to tell Papa where we had been today. ‘Piglets’ you said, then ‘We saw piglets at the farm, though’. Using the past tense now!
I was busy trying to make pizza when you were drinking your supper soup, then you threw the cup on the floor. I notice that it is when I am occupied in the kitchen and not eating/sitting with you that you start throwing things on the floor, pouring water into your food etc.
I said ‘you’re a little rascal’, ‘ I am not a little rascal, ’ you replied.’ What are you then? said Papa. ‘A monkey’ said you.
6th Oct
Getting out of the car, you noticed a crushed drinks can in the road,
“That’s a bottle of wine.” you remarked. Then “ Baba not go on the road, it’s dangerous”, as you walked very earnestly along the pavement. You are generally quite sensible around roads, although it is sometimes a battle to keep hold of you hand when crossing.
Bristol Zoo this morning in monsoon downpours. I forgot umbrella in the car and buggy rain cover at home. Derrr! We sheltered under a tree, and then waited in the foyer for a break in the sheets of water. We looked at night creatures (‘It’s dark down there’), reptiles, monkeys, seals and penguins. You surprised me with the word creature. You exhausted me running around the whole zoo in your full set of waterproofs and pink wellies – you gnome out fit, we didn’t use the pushchair once. You conked out on the way home, so I transferred you into the pushchair to sleep when we got back, as I didn’t feel able to carry you upstairs.
Ever since you were a baby, I always waited for the moment of your naps to be able to get on with whatever mission in hand, usually dull things like tax returns, filing bills, bank statements etc, phone calls, and less and less, domestic things, which I try and do when you are awake. Then writing this has taken over, which means those other things don’t get done. I ‘m also wondering when I’m going to get back to doing artistic pursuits. But now, I find myself increasing drawn to going to bed when you are asleep, reading some Sunday supplement or lately even a trashy magazine. So unlike me, who usually wants to be productive all the time and whiz through my to-do list. Somehow these days, I can’t be bothered. I guess previously it has been hard for me to relax when you sleep as I have felt the need to accomplish things, even if those things are not really that important. Writing this has been a good focus, because it has taken priority over those pointless organizational paper work tasks.
9th
At the end of the day I sometimes feel like a torn up piece of paper. You, my child, have turned the house upside down. Every room has objects scattered on the floor like...no, I am too tired to think of a metaphor. While I am cooking you are tootling about from one room to another tipping your baskets of books and toys onto the floor, emptying out your box of crayons, pulling the leg off the small table and today, taking books off our shelves, which you haven’t done since you were under a year old.
Then you like to test me, so you open the fridge, which you can now reach, and hold it open for ages, even while I am saying. Please close the fridge…Close it, other wise it might break…followed by ‘Close it NOW!’ You are still giving me this testing, smiling look as if to see how far you can push me. Then you start shouting at me, or saying things that I at some time have said to you.”Don’t do that”.
Today you said some phrase involving “bossy mummy”. There is more shouting and cheekiness from you when you are tired and hungry. I was late cooking supper tonight – chopping up garlic, ginger, onions for the stir-fry, and you asked for bits of haloumi cheese you could see on the counter, which you very kindly broke bits off and shared with me.
The piece of avocado I gave you before supper ended up being smeared on the table. This also happens more when I am pre-occupied and you are eating on your own. It’s nicer for us to eat together, and you focus more on eating then. I have given up with trying to control the amount of mess on the table, so now I ignore the odd spoonful of food that ends up flying across the room and the yoghurt which seem to enjoy smearing on your hands and hair. So I guess I can learn to ignore the bombsite effect in the house.
As you were eating supper exuberantly, you said ‘hold it level, hold it level’, and ‘open the hangar doors’ – two phrases from the men in your life – papa and Grandpa.
Yesterday (Mon) – you went to play with Meg for 2 hours. I trawled round IKEA, bought you a quilt, then sat in the café staring at the rain and thought how depressing it was to go shopping in my time with out you. PM gardening – you like to pull out the plants in imitation of me weeding. You did some digging and hoeing with the huge hoe.
10th
“I swear he used to be a dung beetle in a previous life”, your father said this morning. You have this habit of going to sleep curled up in a ball, bum in the air, cuddling up your quilt, or blanket or pillow. Even when you were about 7 or 8 months and when you just began to sit, you used to love gathering up a towel underneath you, squashing it up between your legs after the bath. You would find any piece of fabric and gather it into a ball. Now you are quite keen on string and have a multi-coloured piece of wool, which you like to wind round the furniture or drag round the rooms.
12th
Language:
I got something in jore (your) eye. (This morning in our bed in the darkness). We are always trying to extend our sleep but you think it’s morning. At 7am today your mantra was “I want an apple”.
“I’n helping me.” (meaning I’m helping you).
I realize this is learned from me asking, “Are you helping me?”
17th
I had two nights away from you last weekend. The first time I have left you for that long. It was odd being the person I used to be – I went to Devon for a day of yoga, driving down on Friday night with 2 other women, and then met Misri for a walk on Sunday. 5 miles striding round Dartmoor in the mist. It was good to re-discover that mental space which seems as if it doesn’t exist anymore. Though I feel like my old self has been returning gradually for a while, so it didn’t feel hugely different. I did think about you, but not all the time. Ironically I could not sleep on Friday night, and as usual woke at about 6am. I slept better on Saturday, but missed you in the mornings. I love that time when you come into our bed, and sometimes lie with your arms around both of us, then you become livelier and there’s lots of jumping and kicking.
Auntie Anna, Sol and baby Leon came round today. You were very excited to see them and became more exuberant, throwing toys, jumping around with Sol. Poor Sol got bumped about, and cried a few times, and you seemed oblivious to your exertions. Though you did give him lots of hugs.
18th
Mealtimes can be very trying. I know it’s better when I sit and eat with you. If I leave the table to clear up, get the wet facecloth, a spoon etc, you pour water into your food, smear yoghurt onto the table, throw your bowl onto the floor etc. Tonight you were bashing your sweet potato/mackerel dauphinoise with a spoon as if it were a drum. You have an amazingly healthy appetite, and eat almost everything we do, including lettuce, cooked cabbage, raw peppers, olives, anchovies, pickled chilies, and raw onion. I am waiting to see if you develop some food fad, as so many children seem to do. You eat well, and manage an enthusiastic amount using spoon and hands, but the deliberate mess making winds me up too often. A stern “we don’t throw our food on the floor” is a regular riposte. I have tried ignoring your bad habits, just removing the plate from you, and that can be more effective than stern words or shouting, which is what happens when I’m too tired.
‘Mama shouting’ you said to me today, as I found my buttons being pressed too readily, because I have that hungover tiredness from lying in bed awake for an hour unable to sleep, and waking regularly before 6am.
‘The patio’ is the name you call the little plastic step that we use in the bathroom, so you can reach the sink to brush your teeth. The other day I left you alone with the tap on and you managed to put the plug in, and had I left you another 10 seconds you would have flooded the bathroom.
20th
Morning talk
The alarm goes off: “it’s 7 o’ clock. Get up! I want an apple, or a banana or a pear”
(You said ‘mummy I want an orange twice in your sleep last night.
Singing to yourself; ‘ “Diddle, widdle, pussycat went over the clock’
You stood on the bed this morning and said ‘Bollocks ‘ for no particular reason (this was my reaction to finding the cat sick in the hall about a week ago, so you have a good memory).
Yesterday, Thurs, was Steiner P&T group on the train, home to sleep – though you fell asleep in the buggy, and I woke you taking off your stiff shoes from Cicely, then to Lara and Jed’s to play in the afternoon.
We waited at the station in the rain yesterday; you were very excited by the fast trains rushing by. Each time one went past, you stepped back and had this huge look of surprise on your face, and stiffened your head and arms with excitement.
After your sleep, you came downstairs as I was writing, and I gathered you into my arms. You were unusually contented, “You called mummy”, you said, pointing at me’ ‘I’n Baba’. “You’re Baba and Theo’ - you’re called Theo’, I replied.
‘I’m called Theo’, you said for the first time.
Stuck in rush hour traffic, yesterday evening you took your arms out from your seat belt. I asked you to please put them back, a few times. You kept looking away, saying no, then answering ‘I said no’ about 4 times. I had said that to you that morning when you demanded to hold some loose tea bags you had found in my handbag. You were quite upset, and kept asking, but I kept saying ‘no, I said no’. It’s amazing how everything I say to you comes back to me at some time or other.
22nd
Wonderful weekend at Capel-y-Fin staying at the monastery with the Shotters. It bucketed down but we managed to climb up the mountain behind the house. You were adventurous, splashing in puddles, striding through streams and picking up stones. ‘This is a steep rock’ you said as you clambered over up the muddy, rocky bridle path. We ate and rested and slept and walked. Samuel and you carried hazel sticks as we walked down the leafy autumn lanes, a rare bit of sunshine spreading though the just-turning beech and larch trees. It was lovely, simple and uplifting. Last night Sophie, Chris, Pete and I ate a coq-au-vin I’d cooked at home on Friday and our conversation turned to burglaries, as our neighbour had had his bicycle stolen earlier in the week. It was a grim conversation, and P told us of all his lost property and how little attached to it he is. Later we moved on to reading Shakespeare plays as characters and charades. We got home tonight to discover that our house has been broken into, and small items like the video camera and mini-disc player have disappeared – of course all with tape of Theo on, Theo talking etc – saying bicycle-le-le etc. I realize I have not backed up all my photos.
31st Monday
New word: poisonous (we were looking at mushrooms)
This evening at supper time you said: “Time to rest. Busy day”
Crazy half term week, driving up to Leeds to see June, rural York (Cinders and Andrew) and meeting up with P in Liverpool to see in-laws, then driving back Sunday evening where there was so much traffic on the M6 it was 40 miles an hour most of the way. It was lovely to see you playing with other children (Iona and Freddie), and cuddle up with the golden retriever Skye. I am still surprised that you are now so obviously a separate person with your own way of doing things and getting on with people, your own likes and dislikes.
“I don’t like that,” is a new, regular phrase, usually when I’m trying to wipe your yoghurty face after supper.
Why am I already tied into half terms? Our lives are structured by the activities we do – swapping childcare with a friend on Monday mornings, you having 3 hours with your dad Tuesdays, then Lucytime (music and movement) on Weds, and Steiner Parent and Toddler group on Thursdays. The afternoons are too short, because you sleep till 3.30, although that’s when I often think it would be nice to do something locally. Today we walked to Eastville Park with Rowan, for you to play on the swings with baby Martha. It’s as if there is no time to be spontaneous, but maybe I’m also afraid to have big gaps of time at home with nothing arranged?
Knowing that you are two at the end of this week, I realize that I have moved away from that all encompassing experience of motherhood. You still need me, but are an explorer of the world, coming to me for cuddles when you need reassurance. I guess they are a substitute for the breast you once had. I have moved from the perfect fulfillment of being the person whom your life depended on, to a version of my old self. I mean I can see how I am interested in things out in the world again, and that I am back to my old reflective, wondering self, trying to work out what my purpose in life is, aside from my commitment to you.
It’s hard to articlulate, but being a mother to a newborn, and probably all of the first year, I felt that I had found my life ‘s purpose, that the identity of motherhood was my destiny. But as you become separate from me, the other parts of me emerge or return, which feels a kind of loss, because I loved the sense of total focus and engrossed ness that being your mother brought to me. Now I return to the person searching for an identity.
You were miserable today. Your snuffles of last week have developed into a full on cold and cough, with lots of dribbling. Now you also have nappy rash. This might explain why you have been waking in the night the past two weeks – at the oddest of hours: 1.20am, 4am. We are all exhausted and I am reconnecting with the zombified feeling of the early months, when you breastfed several times nightly. I think your molars are coming through.
Well, you and Papa went to Glasgow on the plane on Saturday to attend the 1st birthday party of John L.s granddaughter Emily. Your 24-hour trip away gave me the longest time I have had to myself since you came into our lives. It was also our first night apart. I went to Bath to mooch around the shops and met Sandra, Phelim and Ellen for lunch. It was lovely to feel I didn’t have to be back at a certain time, that I could browse, and wander aimlessly. Of course, I spent a lot of time looking at other parents and children in buggies and seeing things that I thought you would love (like the huge playground in Victoria Park).
I seem to be in the habit of going to bed too late (11.30pm), or if earlier, lie in bed unable to get to sleep, then wake at 4.30am, and again cannot get back to sleep, so I feel I am dragging myself along in the day time. On the night you were away, I woke at 6am when I heard cry. I was convinced it was you. I went back into a snooze, but got up at 8am to go back to bed with toast and cocoa, and the Saturday papers. Later I went to the cinema, (the Devil wears Prada) before you returned at 12.00.
New toy: P has installed Video Skype on the computer. This meant that this afternoon when you woke from your cot nap, full of tears and crying’ I want to see Papa/Pappy’, I could bring you downstairs and dial Papa’s office, and we could chat and see each other on the computer screens.
This morning you were at the office with Papa. Tuesdays he gives you your muesli, dresses you and takes you to work for 2 – 4 hours, although you have recently started creating havoc there, in spite of him setting up train sets etc for you. Today apparently you strew your sandwiches across the floor.
Language:
I said no to more halloumi cheese at supper (you were about to pinch more off my plate) and your response was -
“Go away naughty mummy!”
I wonder who has been saying that to you? I have stopped myself from saying naughty, as I thought this would backfire. Also it doesn’t really mean anything – a child does not learn anything about their behaviour if it is described as ‘naughty’.
3rd
Today: Lucytime, then a visit to the Farm, meeting Pippa for lunch. You fell off the ladder in the playground onto bark chippings, but were basically alright. As soon as we arrived you said ‘holding hands with Kit’, which is what you did last time we visited in July with C + Kit. I am surprised by your memory, and that you recognize places, but why should that be different from adults?
You were so unhappy when you woke from your nap. ‘I want to see Papa’. It took an hour to console you. Eventually you agreed to look at the Peepo book with me ‘dyess’ you said in your enthusiastic high voice.
Papa came home when you were eating supper. I whispered in your ear to tell Papa where we had been today. ‘Piglets’ you said, then ‘We saw piglets at the farm, though’. Using the past tense now!
I was busy trying to make pizza when you were drinking your supper soup, then you threw the cup on the floor. I notice that it is when I am occupied in the kitchen and not eating/sitting with you that you start throwing things on the floor, pouring water into your food etc.
I said ‘you’re a little rascal’, ‘ I am not a little rascal, ’ you replied.’ What are you then? said Papa. ‘A monkey’ said you.
6th Oct
Getting out of the car, you noticed a crushed drinks can in the road,
“That’s a bottle of wine.” you remarked. Then “ Baba not go on the road, it’s dangerous”, as you walked very earnestly along the pavement. You are generally quite sensible around roads, although it is sometimes a battle to keep hold of you hand when crossing.
Bristol Zoo this morning in monsoon downpours. I forgot umbrella in the car and buggy rain cover at home. Derrr! We sheltered under a tree, and then waited in the foyer for a break in the sheets of water. We looked at night creatures (‘It’s dark down there’), reptiles, monkeys, seals and penguins. You surprised me with the word creature. You exhausted me running around the whole zoo in your full set of waterproofs and pink wellies – you gnome out fit, we didn’t use the pushchair once. You conked out on the way home, so I transferred you into the pushchair to sleep when we got back, as I didn’t feel able to carry you upstairs.
Ever since you were a baby, I always waited for the moment of your naps to be able to get on with whatever mission in hand, usually dull things like tax returns, filing bills, bank statements etc, phone calls, and less and less, domestic things, which I try and do when you are awake. Then writing this has taken over, which means those other things don’t get done. I ‘m also wondering when I’m going to get back to doing artistic pursuits. But now, I find myself increasing drawn to going to bed when you are asleep, reading some Sunday supplement or lately even a trashy magazine. So unlike me, who usually wants to be productive all the time and whiz through my to-do list. Somehow these days, I can’t be bothered. I guess previously it has been hard for me to relax when you sleep as I have felt the need to accomplish things, even if those things are not really that important. Writing this has been a good focus, because it has taken priority over those pointless organizational paper work tasks.
9th
At the end of the day I sometimes feel like a torn up piece of paper. You, my child, have turned the house upside down. Every room has objects scattered on the floor like...no, I am too tired to think of a metaphor. While I am cooking you are tootling about from one room to another tipping your baskets of books and toys onto the floor, emptying out your box of crayons, pulling the leg off the small table and today, taking books off our shelves, which you haven’t done since you were under a year old.
Then you like to test me, so you open the fridge, which you can now reach, and hold it open for ages, even while I am saying. Please close the fridge…Close it, other wise it might break…followed by ‘Close it NOW!’ You are still giving me this testing, smiling look as if to see how far you can push me. Then you start shouting at me, or saying things that I at some time have said to you.”Don’t do that”.
Today you said some phrase involving “bossy mummy”. There is more shouting and cheekiness from you when you are tired and hungry. I was late cooking supper tonight – chopping up garlic, ginger, onions for the stir-fry, and you asked for bits of haloumi cheese you could see on the counter, which you very kindly broke bits off and shared with me.
The piece of avocado I gave you before supper ended up being smeared on the table. This also happens more when I am pre-occupied and you are eating on your own. It’s nicer for us to eat together, and you focus more on eating then. I have given up with trying to control the amount of mess on the table, so now I ignore the odd spoonful of food that ends up flying across the room and the yoghurt which seem to enjoy smearing on your hands and hair. So I guess I can learn to ignore the bombsite effect in the house.
As you were eating supper exuberantly, you said ‘hold it level, hold it level’, and ‘open the hangar doors’ – two phrases from the men in your life – papa and Grandpa.
Yesterday (Mon) – you went to play with Meg for 2 hours. I trawled round IKEA, bought you a quilt, then sat in the café staring at the rain and thought how depressing it was to go shopping in my time with out you. PM gardening – you like to pull out the plants in imitation of me weeding. You did some digging and hoeing with the huge hoe.
10th
“I swear he used to be a dung beetle in a previous life”, your father said this morning. You have this habit of going to sleep curled up in a ball, bum in the air, cuddling up your quilt, or blanket or pillow. Even when you were about 7 or 8 months and when you just began to sit, you used to love gathering up a towel underneath you, squashing it up between your legs after the bath. You would find any piece of fabric and gather it into a ball. Now you are quite keen on string and have a multi-coloured piece of wool, which you like to wind round the furniture or drag round the rooms.
12th
Language:
I got something in jore (your) eye. (This morning in our bed in the darkness). We are always trying to extend our sleep but you think it’s morning. At 7am today your mantra was “I want an apple”.
“I’n helping me.” (meaning I’m helping you).
I realize this is learned from me asking, “Are you helping me?”
17th
I had two nights away from you last weekend. The first time I have left you for that long. It was odd being the person I used to be – I went to Devon for a day of yoga, driving down on Friday night with 2 other women, and then met Misri for a walk on Sunday. 5 miles striding round Dartmoor in the mist. It was good to re-discover that mental space which seems as if it doesn’t exist anymore. Though I feel like my old self has been returning gradually for a while, so it didn’t feel hugely different. I did think about you, but not all the time. Ironically I could not sleep on Friday night, and as usual woke at about 6am. I slept better on Saturday, but missed you in the mornings. I love that time when you come into our bed, and sometimes lie with your arms around both of us, then you become livelier and there’s lots of jumping and kicking.
Auntie Anna, Sol and baby Leon came round today. You were very excited to see them and became more exuberant, throwing toys, jumping around with Sol. Poor Sol got bumped about, and cried a few times, and you seemed oblivious to your exertions. Though you did give him lots of hugs.
18th
Mealtimes can be very trying. I know it’s better when I sit and eat with you. If I leave the table to clear up, get the wet facecloth, a spoon etc, you pour water into your food, smear yoghurt onto the table, throw your bowl onto the floor etc. Tonight you were bashing your sweet potato/mackerel dauphinoise with a spoon as if it were a drum. You have an amazingly healthy appetite, and eat almost everything we do, including lettuce, cooked cabbage, raw peppers, olives, anchovies, pickled chilies, and raw onion. I am waiting to see if you develop some food fad, as so many children seem to do. You eat well, and manage an enthusiastic amount using spoon and hands, but the deliberate mess making winds me up too often. A stern “we don’t throw our food on the floor” is a regular riposte. I have tried ignoring your bad habits, just removing the plate from you, and that can be more effective than stern words or shouting, which is what happens when I’m too tired.
‘Mama shouting’ you said to me today, as I found my buttons being pressed too readily, because I have that hungover tiredness from lying in bed awake for an hour unable to sleep, and waking regularly before 6am.
‘The patio’ is the name you call the little plastic step that we use in the bathroom, so you can reach the sink to brush your teeth. The other day I left you alone with the tap on and you managed to put the plug in, and had I left you another 10 seconds you would have flooded the bathroom.
20th
Morning talk
The alarm goes off: “it’s 7 o’ clock. Get up! I want an apple, or a banana or a pear”
(You said ‘mummy I want an orange twice in your sleep last night.
Singing to yourself; ‘ “Diddle, widdle, pussycat went over the clock’
You stood on the bed this morning and said ‘Bollocks ‘ for no particular reason (this was my reaction to finding the cat sick in the hall about a week ago, so you have a good memory).
Yesterday, Thurs, was Steiner P&T group on the train, home to sleep – though you fell asleep in the buggy, and I woke you taking off your stiff shoes from Cicely, then to Lara and Jed’s to play in the afternoon.
We waited at the station in the rain yesterday; you were very excited by the fast trains rushing by. Each time one went past, you stepped back and had this huge look of surprise on your face, and stiffened your head and arms with excitement.
After your sleep, you came downstairs as I was writing, and I gathered you into my arms. You were unusually contented, “You called mummy”, you said, pointing at me’ ‘I’n Baba’. “You’re Baba and Theo’ - you’re called Theo’, I replied.
‘I’m called Theo’, you said for the first time.
Stuck in rush hour traffic, yesterday evening you took your arms out from your seat belt. I asked you to please put them back, a few times. You kept looking away, saying no, then answering ‘I said no’ about 4 times. I had said that to you that morning when you demanded to hold some loose tea bags you had found in my handbag. You were quite upset, and kept asking, but I kept saying ‘no, I said no’. It’s amazing how everything I say to you comes back to me at some time or other.
22nd
Wonderful weekend at Capel-y-Fin staying at the monastery with the Shotters. It bucketed down but we managed to climb up the mountain behind the house. You were adventurous, splashing in puddles, striding through streams and picking up stones. ‘This is a steep rock’ you said as you clambered over up the muddy, rocky bridle path. We ate and rested and slept and walked. Samuel and you carried hazel sticks as we walked down the leafy autumn lanes, a rare bit of sunshine spreading though the just-turning beech and larch trees. It was lovely, simple and uplifting. Last night Sophie, Chris, Pete and I ate a coq-au-vin I’d cooked at home on Friday and our conversation turned to burglaries, as our neighbour had had his bicycle stolen earlier in the week. It was a grim conversation, and P told us of all his lost property and how little attached to it he is. Later we moved on to reading Shakespeare plays as characters and charades. We got home tonight to discover that our house has been broken into, and small items like the video camera and mini-disc player have disappeared – of course all with tape of Theo on, Theo talking etc – saying bicycle-le-le etc. I realize I have not backed up all my photos.
31st Monday
New word: poisonous (we were looking at mushrooms)
This evening at supper time you said: “Time to rest. Busy day”
Crazy half term week, driving up to Leeds to see June, rural York (Cinders and Andrew) and meeting up with P in Liverpool to see in-laws, then driving back Sunday evening where there was so much traffic on the M6 it was 40 miles an hour most of the way. It was lovely to see you playing with other children (Iona and Freddie), and cuddle up with the golden retriever Skye. I am still surprised that you are now so obviously a separate person with your own way of doing things and getting on with people, your own likes and dislikes.
“I don’t like that,” is a new, regular phrase, usually when I’m trying to wipe your yoghurty face after supper.
Why am I already tied into half terms? Our lives are structured by the activities we do – swapping childcare with a friend on Monday mornings, you having 3 hours with your dad Tuesdays, then Lucytime (music and movement) on Weds, and Steiner Parent and Toddler group on Thursdays. The afternoons are too short, because you sleep till 3.30, although that’s when I often think it would be nice to do something locally. Today we walked to Eastville Park with Rowan, for you to play on the swings with baby Martha. It’s as if there is no time to be spontaneous, but maybe I’m also afraid to have big gaps of time at home with nothing arranged?
Knowing that you are two at the end of this week, I realize that I have moved away from that all encompassing experience of motherhood. You still need me, but are an explorer of the world, coming to me for cuddles when you need reassurance. I guess they are a substitute for the breast you once had. I have moved from the perfect fulfillment of being the person whom your life depended on, to a version of my old self. I mean I can see how I am interested in things out in the world again, and that I am back to my old reflective, wondering self, trying to work out what my purpose in life is, aside from my commitment to you.
It’s hard to articlulate, but being a mother to a newborn, and probably all of the first year, I felt that I had found my life ‘s purpose, that the identity of motherhood was my destiny. But as you become separate from me, the other parts of me emerge or return, which feels a kind of loss, because I loved the sense of total focus and engrossed ness that being your mother brought to me. Now I return to the person searching for an identity.
posted by f at 7:00 AM
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