Archives for April 2011
The “Difficult” Child
April 12, 2011 by ·
When Connor was really young – I don’t know how young, but young enough to still be considered an infant – I got a book from the library called Raising Your Spirited Child. My husband saw it on the stairs and gave me a funny look.
“Oh, you better believe we’re going to need that,” I assured him.
I skimmed the book and my resolve fled in fear at some of the descriptions of “spirited” behaviour. I don’t think I actually got to the how-to-deal-with-it stuff before promptly sliding it down the library’s return chute, out of sight.
I’ve thought of the “spirited child” concept many times since and I now know exactly what the author is talking about. The complete and utter meltdown because I’ve put his water in the wrong cup. The sheer determination this child shows in refusing to go to sleep easily or stay asleep once there. His spirit – unless sick – seems to know no bounds.
A Today’s Parent article about parenting the “difficult” child has me thinking about this again. “Difficult” isn’t really a word I like in the context of children and, besides, saying he’s “difficult” doesn’t really help people who don’t have difficult kids understand what’s meant by that. I do, however, like how the article’s author defines it:
First let me say that by “difficult” I mean kids who are more difficult to raise. In fact, more is the operative word here — more active, more inclined to explore (read: get into things), more emotional, more likely to question, more labour-intensive, more just about everything — apart from obeying, sleeping and playing by themselves.
This describes Connor exactly. Everyone who meets him comments on how “busy” he is. He gets into everything. He comes by his emotional nature naturally (ahem) but even I’m surprised sometimes at how immediate and explosive his reactions are. My mom once commented that he’s the type of kid who needs four parents. Let me assure you – as one of the two parents he has, I’m well aware we’re understaffed.
The “except” part of that description applies too. Obey? Not so much. And he’s not good at playing by himself – less so, even, than the average almost-three-year-old. And have I mentioned that he doesn’t sleep well? There have been times it felt like he didn’t sleep at all.
The Spirited Child book offers the same observation:
Research shows that spirited kids are wired to be “more”—by temperament, they are more intense, sensitive, perceptive, persistent, and uncomfortable with change than the average child.
“More” sums it up perfectly. Everything about Connor is “more”.
I’m a Type A and an introvert (which are not, as you might think, mutually exclusive qualities). I like to be busy, but on my terms. I like to have control over things. And at the end of the day I like to come home and decompress with a little quiet time. Having all of that and being a mom to a toddler – especially one who is “more” – do seem to be mutually exclusive. I know it comes with the territory, but it’s tough for me. Really tough.
My husband and I have always talked about how we think this side of him is a good thing. I’d much rather have a happy, active kid than one who sits there like a barnacle on a rock.
I’m starting to appreciate what this actually means. The summary of the Spirited Child book notes that spirited children “possess traits we value in adults yet find challenging in children.” Quite coincidentally, my therapist pointed this out recently too.
Connor is smart, curious, creative, active, attentive and really, really loving. I do value those qualities in him now, even if I don’t always appreciate the side effects.
I really, really hope he carries those qualities with him to adulthood, and I’m willing to do my part as his mom to support that.
I Am a Mother
April 11, 2011 by ·
There are times when I embrace my motherhood – when I temporarily allow the rest of the world to fade away and cease to matter. In these moments I find peace and rightness, as though I’ve found the fulcrum on which my life is meant to pivot.
This is not to say the rest doesn’t matter at all. I will always be more than a mother. It’s just that in those moments I am a mother but I am also me. I can see myself. I’m not hidden behind a curtain I didn’t see being pulled.
Connor has been sick since Friday night. Nothing major (knock wood) – just the stomach bug that’s going around. But it knocked him flat. My whirlwind lost his whirl.
For the better part of three days I’ve been sitting on the couch, holding my small boy. His temperature raged and, in compensation and protest, his hot little body melted into me, sleepy and still.
I did all the mama things that come with a child who has a stomach bug – cleaning up, calming down, doing laundry. When clothes needed to be changed I changed them. When we ran out of sheets in the middle of the night I improvised.
But those are just the things we must do as mothers. We do them with love, but they must be done. To be fair, my husband took on most of the worst of it, but still. Those things are not the things that truly define me as a mother.
Mother and Child on a Couch, by James Abbott McNeill Whistler
When my child had been sick in the middle of the night and wanted his mama, I was a mother.
When I sat on the couch hour after hour holding him, I was a mother.
When I coaxed medicine down his throat, counting squirts and promising juice chasers, I was a mother.
When I lay next to him in bed at night listening to his breathing long after he had fallen back asleep, I was a mother.
This type of illness is nothing compared to what some mothers face. Nothing. But the type of worry – the what-if worry – is in the same category. It makes us mothers.
I am a mother because, when he woke up after that first long night and wanted nobody but his mama, I returned to the couch and continued to hold him even though my body ached with tiredness.
I am a mother because I would have taken on every pain, every symptom, if it would have taken it away from him.
I am a mother because during this time his every need came before mine. I gave up sleep when I needed to sleep. I delayed meals when I needed to eat. I passed on exercise when I needed to move.
Instead, I held him.
Because I am his mother.
Stolen Joy
April 8, 2011 by ·
At first I didn’t even realize it was missing.
“The moment a child is born, the mother is also born. She never existed before. The woman existed, but the mother, never. A mother is something absolutely new.” – Rajneesh
I had never had the experience of being a mother before, so I didn’t know exactly what it was supposed to be – I just had my own expectations.
“Being a mom is the most rewarding experience you can ever have…You get to birth them into the world. Raise them right, see them grow…The first time they wrap their little arms around you and give you a tight hug… it is just all so wonderful.” – post on Yahoo! Answers
The first month I thought it had been given to me – the amazing experience of being a mother. I sensed my motherhood in his tiny hands, wispy hair and beautiful baby cheeks. I thought we had it figured out.
“Be kind. Everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle.” – Ralph Waldo Emerson
Early in the second month, things started to be different. It wasn’t the start of my battle – I now realize that started much earlier – but during this time the thieves came and, bit by bit, stole from me.
He was fussy. He took a bottle for a while (freedom!) and then refused outright for months (despair). He didn’t sleep. He screamed and then he screamed some more.
I cried when he cried. I lay awake at night totally unable to sleep. I yelled at my husband. I went to play dates and pretended everything was fine but felt like an imposter.
“Nothing else will ever make you as happy or as sad, as proud or as tired, for nothing is quite as hard as helping a person develop his own individuality especially while you struggle to keep your own.” – Marguerite Kelly and Ella Parsons
Why was this happening to me? Where did it come from? This was not the experience of motherhood I wanted to have. I didn’t want to be angry, frustrated, and sad. And so resentful. Resenting my experience of motherhood consumed me for months.
I look back on those days with love for him – so much love – but not the joy I had expected. The joy of motherhood had been stolen from me. Postpartum depression took it away.
“No one can go back and make a brand new start, my friend, but anyone can start from here and make a brand new end.” – Dan Zadra
Eventually, I accepted that things weren’t just going to get better. I had to ask for – and accept – help and after I did things got better for a while. And then worse again. Over nearly three years I’ve battled a series of ups and downs – waves that crashed over me again and again and finally coughed me up on the beach, spent.
“And so rock bottom became the solid foundation on which I rebuilt my life.” – JK Rowling
I’ve seen rock bottom – a place in me I thought didn’t exist. Thoughts I believed were for others to think, not me. I stared in the face of the easy way out and chose not to take it.
I have a child. I am a mother. This is my experience – the good and the bad.
Because of something I didn’t see coming, something that is not my fault, the experience of motherhood I wanted was stolen from me. And now I’m taking it back. It’s time to rebuild.
This is what joy looks like
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This post is non-fiction and written in response to a prompt from The Red Dress Club.
Someone has stolen something from you (or your character). Something of tremendous value. What will you do to get it back? Or will you give up?
Write a post – fiction or non-fiction. Word limit is 600.
Fledgling Friday – April 8 edition
April 7, 2011 by ·
This has been quite the week for me. There’s more to come but for now I’m looking forward to hearing what other people have been up to. The inside of my head is getting a bit repetitive 😉
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