Good Mother

Every day, I get in the car at pick up time and say "I will be a better mother tonight. I will be patient and understanding and not yell."

Four is full of silliness, of silliness past the point of amusement and tolerance. Four is meaningless syllables repeated loudly ad nauseum. Four is willful defiance just because he can. Four is mercurial tempers, bewildering change from happiness to raging fury over something seemingly inconsequential. Four is endless whining even when reminded not to. Four is ever "forgetting" the rules. Four is bad guys and death and lasers and acid in faces.

I want to love four. I want to be patient with four. I want to enjoy it for it's own sake. I want to enjoy him, my little boy, my wonderful child.

And I can't.

And I feel so freaking bad about it.

It's partly the tiredness, the new baby tiredness. It's partly that I'm seeing a side of him -- the aggressive, play-fighting, rough-housing side -- that I can't relate to. It's partly missing the little boy who was, who wanted to read books with me more than anything else, who now wants to play superheroes and villains. It's partly a war within myself ... Yes, I can tolerate silliness, but he also needs to learn, to know where the lines are, and when he crosses them.

I guess the facts are that he's changing. He's not that little boy I pictured, bookish and serious. He is who he is, and our relationship will change no matter how much I wish it didn't.

And partly realizing that being a "good mother" isn't about being a favourite, a friend, a playmate. I'm his guide, it's my job to get mad and show him how things should be. It sucks sometimes to be the policeman, but it's part of being the Good Mother.

24/7

The thing that perhaps I had forgotten, from last time, perhaps had been blocked from memory, is the constancy of life with a newborn. Not the sameness of it, the constant-ness, the being at the beck and call of another human twenty four hours a day, seven days a week, for weeks on end. There is no "I will just run to the garbage (outside)" or "I will just run to the store" or even "I'll go to the bathroom in peace for five minutes" without at least making provision for the health and well-being of another person.

The Boy is at an age now where I can exit a room and pee, or take out the garbage, and I tell him where I am going and he is fine for five minutes. He can stay home with his father or my mother or his grandparents or at daycare with his teachers for hours. We are separated, living our own lives.

Contrasted to that, I cannot even leave a room now for a second without thinking about my daughter.

Oh, it's not that she cries each time I leave; some times she's content as ever to sit on her own. The thing is that she might NOT be, and I have to be prepared to run back and do something about it. And forget running out to the store on my own, even when her father is home. I am the only one with boobs.

And it's not that I mind. I'm not complaining. It's just ... constantly there, and it's one of those things that makes being a mother of a newborn baby exhausting.

But then some days, I lean over her, and she looks me in the eye and smiles.

My daughter is asleep on her own for the first time in two days (during the day), in her vibrating seat strategically located amongst the loud rumbling dryer, the swooshing washing machine, and the low hum of the dishwasher.

It's a good thing that I have lots and lots of laundry and dishes to do. And lots of chocolate.

It's noon. Today I've made two cups of tea and have managed to drink ... neither of them. Not a single sip.

It's been that kind of morning.

One of this morning's activities was the discharge appointment at the midwife, where I learned that my daughter is gaining weight at four times the minimum required for infants -- two ounces a day as opposed to the minimum of 1/2 an ounce a day. Which might explain why she's been feeling so darn heavy lately.

Everything else also checked out ok, so we were discharged to the care of our family physician. Like last time, I am sad to say good bye to the midwives -- the same one was present at both my births, and the team of them really were life-savers in pregnancy and post-partum, answering questions and calming an anxious mother. I'll miss them. Particularly I'll miss their personalized care, available 24/7.

They told me to come back if I every had another one, and I said I would -- but that they shouldn't hold their breath, it sure wasn't in our plans. But I admit it seems more likely now, given that when she asked "hey, what are you doing for birth control now?" I paused and didn't have an answer. No, we are definitely not planning to have any more kids, but it seems I should get on it and find an answer to that question soon or I might end up back there again.

And God knows when I can't even manage a cup of tea in the mornings, I am SURE not capable of taking care of a third small human.

I get the biggest smiles from my daughter when I sing along to Lady
Gaga songs. Not sure if this is because she's laughing at my attempts
to be cool or if she likes Euro-pop. And not sure come to think of it
which is the better alternative of the two.

Fathering

The Man has been away for four days. Last week he was gone the whole
week. Each week was full of long days, of client meetings that lasted
all day and business dinners long into the evening which had to be
followed up later in the hotel room answering email and putting out
fires in the home office.

Yesterday's trip home was, due to delays, easily twice as long as it
should have been. He should have been home at 9pm but was instead home
about 1:30am. And then was harrassed by the cat for an hour.

After two long weeks of tiring work and travel, and five short hours
of sleep, he still got up this morning when a small voice said "I
really missed you Daddy."

We all did.

And we're very glad you are home to celebrate Father's Day with us,
bead bracelet and key chain and all.

New and different

The Man just left on his second business trip in as many weeks. His
plane left ten minutes ago and I already miss him. You know with two
kids, one an infant, you see little of your spouse as it is. We often
say to each other that we miss each other even when we're here.

It's worse when he's gone.

Last week I spent at my parents. This week his parents are here, in
our tiny space. They've never stayed here before, I've never been
alone with them. Seven years and two kids later I still don't know
them well because we only see them once a year, maybe twice (my
parents are by comparison always dropping by ... We see them every
couple months)

I would normally have politely declined their help, but two kids and a
tired mom and ... Well I think it's a good idea to put my personal
idiosyncrasies aside to GET to know the parents of my partner, and let
my children get to know their grandparents.

Not that The Girl will let themhold her for more than five minutes.
She's particular, it seems.

I don't expect this to be a trial. Far from it: they are good, kind
people. And it's a worthwhile investment regardless. But I am used to
my space, doing things my way.

So here we are: living in a tiny space. Getting to know each other.
Hoping for the best.

Next thing I must learn

How to type while nursing. Because this one-handed thing is arduous
and my email / blogging rate is sadly far below levels that maintain
normal contact with friends, family, and the outside world.

Things I'd like to blog about:

- a week at my parents
- a week with The Man's parents
- being four years old
- house clutter and how it's a hopeless cause when lovely people
kindly bring me things.
- the cuteness of little girl dresses and matching diaper covers
- summer in the city
- meanness of little kids in daycare and how I want to pull my kid
from daycare and protect him and make his world perfect and wonderful
and completely conflict free. I know this wouldn't actually help him
at all but my mommy sense wants to just cocoon him up and protect him
from the world.

Sigh.

What's on my mind (apparently)

I had two dreams last night.

The first was that, despite the fact that I did every scrap of laundry I could yesterday, I woke up this morning to an overflowing laundry basket.

The second was that I went into work and I no longer had an office, or really a job.

Apparently my subconscious is delving into my deepest fears ...

I love being a mom

My kid ate, spat up a little in her mouth and then sneezed it into my
cleavage.

Better than yesterday when she spat up on my face I suppose.

Out for a walk

One month later

Not bad ... the front view shows the weight more. Still. I can't
complain. This is reality, what someone without a personal trainer and
chef and nanny looks like a month post birth ... :)