I gather that when sadness strikes,
I’m simply not determined enough to be happy…
When the last day feels like an accomplishment, when the last day is a happy day, everything turns to cheerfulness for it being over. It is a happiness lacking guilt, a type of happiness which rarely comes my way. Relief. Enthusiasm for what is to come. The unexpected lurking in the letters of t-o-m-o-r-r-o-w.
When an accomplishment comes with pride it means you’ve credited yourself for the success. And when I feel proud of myself, I feel at peace with my inner shadows.
A toast to being able to live with ourselves ! (all of our selves)
Image source : http://goo.gl/5FGPOL
Everybody writes nowadays about what it means to be a mother. Even fathers have started publishing articles and books on the subject of being a parent. Motherhood is for me a far more classical experience as I did not dream of having a child and I did not consider a life without offspring as sad or meaningless. I took a chance and let the gods decide if I was fit to have a child, if I deserved to witness such a miracle and if I was capable to conceiving and raising a baby. Apparently, the heavens believed such a charge compatible with my husband and I.
Since I am one of those people who write about everything and nothing, mostly for myself and sometimes because I feel too strongly that some thoughts and reactions in life must be made public, I have diaries dedicated to the development of my child. I write blog posts about some of the events in our life together and I write letters to my friends telling them about certain incidents or special moments. I mentally revised my diaries over the last two years (I started writing about the subject before the actual birth, when my son was still in my womb) and I came to a staggering conclusion.
I often speak of the fatigue involved in raising a child. I often complain to my friends that I am extremely tired and that I miss having time for myself. I know full well that all mothers are sometimes worn out and beat and all they need is simply.. a break. But I seem not to view this as a long-term essential detail as I have never put it on paper in my diary entries. Apparently my subconscious does not see this exhaustion as essential. It is not recorded in the handwritten milestones of post-child life and I am relieved and happy to note that this is how things stand in my case.
I miss holding my baby in my arms. I miss my baby’s willingness to be held tight in my arms. He was about one year old (up to one year and a half), when he started teething regularly. He used to ask me to sit on a chair, in front of the computer screen, to grab my hand and place it atop the mouse and wait impatiently on my lap for Shrek, Cleopatra Stratan or Lilo and Stitch to work their magic on his gloomy mood. He used to have me sit and hold him tight for hours on end. I’d get bored watching the same things over and over every morning and afternoon, I’d know by heart the Gummy Bear lyrics, I’d try to persuade him to go out for walks or play in the yard and all he wanted was to just sit there, nipping his dummies with his pointy teeth. I remember thinking how boring it all seemed, how the only thing I liked was his physical closeness, his smell, his body warmth, his fingers clasping my left thumb and his feet dangling. I used to caress his head and fair hair and clean his ears with special cotton tabs. Every now and then I managed to clip his nails and that was nothing short of a real victory!
I remember enjoying the neverending tenderness that his fits of non-playfulness used to bring about. It was then that he let me kiss his neck and nose, that he let me count the ribs through his shirts and massage his feet through his socks.
I miss this time enormously now, and it is just a few months away! He now sits by himself on the same chair, he turns on the computer by himself, selects Windows 7 and then calls for me merely to play one of another of his favourite cartoons. He never sits calmly for more than 5 minutes and he resents being kissed, hugged, pet or held. I feel sad when he rejects my hand, when he pushes me away and when I sense that I’ve crowded too much upon his personal space to be accepted. I feel as if I haven’t made the most of what was once so willingly allowed. I wish I could turn back the time in order to grasp just moments of the past and clutch him back in my arms, feeling as safe as humanly possible.
The past is not ours to bring forth, so I leave the past in the past. I enjoy the closeness he allows when giving him his showers and bath. He talks to himself in the mirror, he greets himself Hello and Goodbye and he sometimes kisses his own reflection. He is then extremely cheerful, he toys with the toothbrushes within reach, he drops the soap behind the washing machine, he squints and squats and checks with me if he is allwoed to do all that he wants to do. I sometimes forbid the obviously risky ones and I try to make him feel as if he’s deciding what leg is to be washed next and which shampoo we should use. He is genuinely happy when being washed and he sometimes turns towards me, kisses me and plasters his wet head on my neck, as if he’d been doing that all day. He sometimes pets me with his tiny hand and wrings his pointer into one of my nostrils, mumbling a smiley ma-ma-ma. This is the new form of accepted tenderness and closeness and I now know not to treat it lightly.
Children teach us the proper way of seeing life if we take the time to pay enough attention to how and why and when they do the things they do.
I now know when a person is no longer dear to me. When I come to regard the time I once spent to make them cheerful, happy and genuinely surprised as a waste. As I regard the time I once dedicated to them as a squander, I realise the person has definitely lost their place in my heart.
I lack the power to feel regret – I feel sorrow but I am not regretful for what I once whole-heartedly did. And I believe this is the best and most mature (as well as truly helpful) thing I can do. And since it comes so natural, it is also easy to carry out to its full extent.
I’ll name a star for you
The star will never be impressed
Neither will you?
I’d rather we walked towards the star
alone would make it a shorter trip
your hand to hold my hand
your heel to hold my footing
your back to keep me warm and steady
would make me happy