Memory

It seemed to happen in just one small moment. One minute I was childless, the next I wasn't. In that moment it seems I lost all memory of what my life was like before the breathing, squirming bundle of baby was placed in my arms.

I had no expectations of what my life might be like once I became a mother. I'd been a nanny, taken care of my nephew and spent lots of time with small children but I knew that would never be preparation enough for what was to come. I don't think anything can prepare you for it. The beautiful child you bring into the world becomes solely your responsiblity once it's handed over to your care. You leave the hospital on a high like you've never known before. You don't yet know that you're still going to be able to love that baby like you've never loved anything else, even when it's been screaming for days on end and you've not slept for what feels like weeks.

Today while sitting in the doctor's surgery yet again with Henry, a young couple came in with a baby that seemed to be only days old. The father held that baby so lovingly and so gently that it almost made me cry. Its mother moved slowly, as though someone had sapped the life right out of her. She managed to manouveur herself over to the reception desk and gave her particulars. She then slowly made her way back to take a seat beside her husband and child. She slumped down in her chair, leaned forward and put her face in her hands. I wondered if she were about to start sobbing. She looked up, leaned back, raised her head and stared into space. The baby started to fuss beside her in its father's arms. The mother moved her head sideways to glance in its general direction. She seemed so tired, almost like she didn't even have the strength to care. She looked defeated - as though having given birth to the child had zapped every ounce of energy she had.

Someone else in the waiting room asked how old the baby was. The father said the baby was five days. The mother gave a halfhearted grin in response because that's all she could muster. She then went back to staring into space.

That got me to thinking about the transition to parenthood and the emotional and physical roller coaster that it is. The expectations that are placed on us that were never there before. The demands that such a small helpless, dependent human can bring when we haven't been fully prepared for it. The overwhelming need to protect and nuture, love and guide another when you haven't yet learned how to do these things for yourself.

Most parents I know, including myself, long for a break, if even just for an hour, of the demands of their small children but when they get them they just wish their children were there with them. This is what they do to us. They tire us out but the idea of life without them seems stupid and wasteful and selfish. No wonder they bring with them a memory eraser.

The Age of Beep

What is it with appliances that continue to beep at you until you pay them some attention? They're worse than nagging children. My microwave oven just won't let up after it's finished heating my food to a fireball until I fetch whatever it is I put in there. Does it think I'm going to forget that I was starving? The intermittent beep beep drives me nuts. I've scanned the manual that came with it to see if there is some way I can turn this off but it appears that I'm stuck with it. I now think twice before placing anythng in it but when I do I feel like giving it a good stern talking to just like I do to Henry, Maya and my husband. I want to tell it that if I don't respond immediately it's because I've been distracted by the need to pee or answer the phone or wipe up a major ice cream spill. I want to ask it to please be patient because I won't forget that I stuck an exploding potato into it.

I find myself wanting to go over there and unplug the thing and hurl it out the window. Ben obviously feels the same way because he's been known to slam his fingers on the door release so hard that it almost breaks the springs. Maya and Henry, well they just wait until someone else prepares their food and places it in their lap.

I am fortunate enough to have a non-electronic version of washing machine but I have friends and relatives who do. Those things do the same thing. The constant beep beep that reminds you your washing has finished and you should be paying attention to your housekeeping duties more closely has been known to drive them insane also.

Is it just that the electronic age uses this option because they can or do they truly believe it's an added "feature" that everyone wants? Why don't they just make them sing a pre-recorded message that says something like "hey stupid, you who believes that your life is so much better off with me, why don't you get off your fat butt and get over here and deal with me. Go on. I dare you

When you should be something else

Henry has always showered with us since he was a baby because we don't have a bathtub. Last night while getting in the shower Henry noted something...

H: Mum, you don't have a doody.

Me: No, I don't. That's because I'm a girl.

H: Well, we'll have to get you one.

Me: Where would we get one from?

H: From the doody shop. We'll get one next time we go there.

Juggling

Henry has recently taken a liking to the computer, or concuter as he calls it. He likes to look at the Curious George website which has all kinds of fascinating games on it. The fruit juggling game is his favourite but the hardest for him to play because he hasn't quite yet learned how to count as well as George. He's hooked on the idea of juggling however and is always looking for things to juggle. He especially likes fruit but juggling real fruit is messy and expensive so this morning I gave him some onions. It was 5.30AM. I wasn't quite feeling alive yet but Henry wanted to juggle and no amount of explaining to him that my eyes were not yet fully open was going to deter him.

Trying to teach a kid to juggle is really hard. I can only juggle two objects with my hands at a time myself. Notice that I said objects and hands because I am quite capable of juggling three million things at once in my mind. But mind juggling doesn't count. My kid can't see what's going on in my head.

So at 5.45AM we were standing in the kitchen with three onions and a muesli bar attempting to juggle. I was unsuccessful and it was frustrating Henry because I couldn't keep them in the air like George does. I gave the onions to him and turned my attention to the kettle. As I did so I was hit in the head with a flying onion. I turned around to find Henry about ready to hike another heavenwards, in the direction of the lightbulb. "Stop" I yelled. You're going to break something. For some reason this caused Henry to double over laughing and ....well suggestion is a powerful thing. The remaining onions were all hurled at lightning speed towards the lightbulb. Fortunately they all missed and crashed to the floor with a terrible thud.

I thought it was about time I paid some attention and tried to explain to Henry, who is only three, how juggling works. I didn't know how to do it. The only words coming from my mouth were - "you have to thing the thing in the air and then the thing passes to the other hand while you thing the other thing..."

Not very succinct. I didn't go anywhere near trying to explain how juggling works. I thought about googling it to see if I could find out if someone else in the world had committed words to screen on the art of juggling. I didn't. Henry became more frustrated by the minute and walked away to watch Curious George doing it for real.

I sat on the floor and cradled my cup of tea and thought about how frustrating raising a child is. Why do they want to know how juggling works at 5.30AM? More importantly why couldn't I come up with a reasonable explanation. I told myself it was because it was only 5.30AM and no sane person would even care about juggling at that hour let alone be trying to explain how it works to a three year old. But...all day I've thought about ways in which I could explain how juggling works to Henry. It won't leave me alone. I'm obsessed, not with juggling but with explaining stuff to my kid and doing it in a way that makes me sound like I almost know what I'm talking about.