As we fast approach the arrival of our third child (yes, you heard right, it is possible that I should be committed), I have been musing over a few of my learnings as a mom.
Firstly, it does get easier, mostly because your capacity grows and both your expectations and need for a full night’s sleep diminishes. Much like going to the army, you just get tougher because quitting is not an option.
Children don’t come with instructions (and all the parenting books contradict one another anyway), but there are a few things that no one tells you about becoming a parent that you really should know beforehand.
The first I call ‘Cocky Parents of One Child Syndrome’. This is most likely to hit you if your first born is a compliant child who strives to please and does no wrong.
This is a trap. It lulls you into a false sense of security and gives you an overinflated idea of your own parenting skills.
Our Daniël was that child. He was sleeping through the night at three months, was nicknamed ‘The Headboy’ in pre-school and now at age seven hassles the whole family out of the house each morning lest he be late for school.
We’ve had well-meaning teachers ask us for parenting advice. I rest my case.
The trap is that your second child will undoubtedly be everything but compliant and will knock over your ‘house of cards’ on parenting with one foul flourish. We are still recovering five years later.
The second is ‘personal space’. This is basically a concept that ceases to exist the instant you become a mother. I am not sure when it is returned to you but I assume that when your youngest child hits his or her teen years you might be out of the woods (ask me in 13 years… which will add up to 21 years since my eldest was born).
Prime example: standing to worship in church on Sunday, Daniël was Velcroed to my side and our youngest, Ruben (5), was attached to my ankle – for the entirety of the worship.
If I sat down there was without fail an argument about who would sit on my lap. I bring snacks, I bring books, I beg, I plead, but there is “nowhere else they would rather be…”
It can be 30°C heat in February and a sweaty little body is likely to be pressed up against me at all times.
Like a ninja in training I have learned a few moves, including ‘Dodge the Elbow’ when lying next to my almost asleep sons at bedtime, and ‘The Toe Cruncher Hop’ whenever my normally barefoot children wear shoes (its like they are trying to stand on my toes).
The third is that you are now a referee to the most inane competitions possible.
The fight over who last got to push the button in the elevator never gets old.
This is a task so tedious that as adults we are quite pleased when another adult offers to do it for us.
Fancy hotels even hire ‘lift operators’ so that we would be spared this odious duty. But to children, this is pure gold.
Brothers live to provoke one another. My first born commits a great deal of brain power to finding new and more creative ways to do this.
It is usually the most simple methods that are the most effective. This weekend Daniël discovered (to his brother’s vexation) a particularly annoying method of licking his sucker.
Finally, prepare yourself to have to repeat everything you say at least three times. I am in no way exaggerating here. I mean everything.
There is considerable mental energy that goes into this process and it goes something like this: “Ruben, would you like cheese or peanut butter on your sandwich?” …. (no response, Ruben flatly ignores me even though he initiated this conversation by announcing that “I’m hungry”).
A touch louder: “Ruben, would you like cheese or peanut butter on your sandwich?” …. “Huh? What you say mommy?” …. (Deep sigh) …. You get my drift.
Someone once said “the days are long, but the years are short”.
Truer words were never spoken. I know I will miss this season when it ends.
But for now, laugh with me as my children continue to give me an education in patience.
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