My daughter made me this gorgeous cake for Mothers Day. I was banned from going into the kitchen the evening before, though I could hear the clanging and smell the delicious baking aroma streaming through the house. She picked roses for me, and brought me breakfast in bed. I am so very fortunate to have her in my life. Some parts of my life featured dystopian imagery, though with her arrival, she somehow managed to paint over the garish landscape and procure a new palette. She never complains when I have to rest my back after a day of activities, and understand when I am in too much pain to do anything other than lay down. For all the pain that this life has procured, it gave me her, and for that I am eternally grateful. We spend 24 hours a day together, and yet I never tire of her company. Her humour is irreverent and we laugh, a lot! She is ten years of age, and has more common sense than I possess. I can’t wait to share the next ten years with her, along with all her young friends, who are set to take on this world. They will shake it up like it’s a snow globe in their hands, and what a glorious picture they shall create!
We have just celebrated your ninth birthday. Where did the time go? I want you to know that there is no need to do anything to make me happy. I love you in your petulant moments, through your anger and tears and also in your joyous times. There is no award or trophy you need to gain to win this love. My darling, this world has already tried to box you in, and label you. We wont let them. You are just as defiant as I, already with a finely-tuned inbuilt detector for nonsense. You are not just “pretty,” “dramatic,” “artistic,” “athletic,” “good at maths.” These are components of what makes you who you are, but my darling, you are not one-dimensional. I pray you never pay mind to anyone that says you are. You came to me perfect, with a grand purpose for your exquisite life. It’s great fun slowly uncovering what that purpose is, watching as your destiny is unfurled through a series of clues. It presents as your interests, the songs and movies you love, the colours and books you adore. It presents in the things you say. Hold onto your sense of self, and take pride in being an individual. Your kind heart and sensitive soul will hold you in good stead. I will love you forever. I knew you long before you were born. I knew you from my dreams. With all my love, Mummy xxx
We went on a tour of our town’s annual art show. It was a thrill to see the names of friend’s amongst the talented artists. My little girl was buoyant. She has settled into the new regime of home schooling superbly, and her confidence has been lifted. To be able to do things in her own time means so much for a dyslexic kid. The pressure has lifted. She ran in to find me that morning, squealing that we had new baby guinea pigs. We certainly did! Five in all.
They are a bit cute!
My little girl, I love hearing you read. I love feeling your joy when you “get” a word. I look forward to seeing what you are going to do in this world. I know guinea pigs, music and art will feature throughout your life, as well as birds and trees! I am delighted that you are coming into your own. You aren’t dyslexic. Rather, you have dyslexia. It is extraordinary how much music and art, compassion and strength can be found in one little girl. I am sad about the times you felt alone, frustrated and exhausted from the dyslexia. I will do everything in my power to make sure that is never the case again. We are able to sound out words, and spell them in a song. If you go to a workshop and are struggling, the teacher lets you use symbols rather than words. It is working.
Art is a beautiful medium of expression. My little girl loves her art, and attends a local studio each Saturday. She is there for almost three hours. I love seeing the pure joy on her face when she shows me her latest creation. My house is filled with her art. It provides a visual showing […]
It’s rather interesting when a lady who has had eating disorders-and been abused in every way possible-becomes a mother. I had to have strategies in place for when this child came into the world. From a very young age, she was watching me. She adored me, and wanted to be just like mummy; say and do the things I did. Hmmm… I had to make it worth this kid’s while! After having her, I was hopping on the scales quite a bit. They had to go. I judged my weight on how my clothes fitted me, not on numbers. We go on nature walks, and work out our bones. Exercise and weight loss is never mentioned. We don’t comment on other people’s weight, nor our own. I found the terminology I used would have a direct impact on her. I jokingly remarked after finishing off a dessert, that I would get a pudgy tummy. The next thing I knew, she had a pincer grip on her stomach, evaluating if she was getting the same. Such responsibility lay on my shoulders. She asks why I wear makeup, and once again, I have to give a thoughtful response. “It’s not because mummy feels like she’s not good enough without it sweetheart,” I say. “I wear it because I love colour, and I see my face as a canvas.” Intent is everything. I affirm my worth in the mirror, and now she does the same. When you have a reinforced sense of self, society will find it hard to puncture you.
I can be a fashion disaster, and well, a disaster on many fronts. I love that about me too! I know that I am trying my best in every aspect of my life. What more can I expect? My purple hair is fading out, and I am going back to my natural colour. I felt a bit daggy regarding the tone of my hair, when a lady shrieked, “I love your hair! Who did it?” I smiled and relayed an $8 tube from the chemist. It’s all about perception isn’t it? I love the parts of me that get angry and self-destructive. I love the “flaws” in my body that make it unique. I have to convey this every single day so that by the time she is a teenager, my daughter will have it ingrained. If she wants to wear heels, dye her hair, put makeup on, I will always ask why. If it is to please herself, good. If it is to feel good enough for this world, I will whisper in her ear, “it’s unnecessary. You have already surpassed good enough.” As have you.
Eyes dabbed with cornflower ink,
Sprinkled with Herkimer diamonds.
Curls prepared from sandalwood shavings.
Cherubim cheeks and rosebud mouth.
A dear little girl sent from heaven.
We whisper in a language known only to a mother and child.
Your visage is my inspiration to cope, to work, to live.
Darling girl, who dreams of butterflies and fairies.
Beautiful girl, who plays until the sun grows tired.
Beloved of the heavens and earth.
The angels chorused when you were born,
“This child shall do extraordinary things!”
I can feel it.
Your spirit radiates like a blazing sun,
It exudes the promise of joy everlasting.
I can’t wait to see the woman you become.
The charming, confident, assured young lady.
Sigh, I am an adult. I like the sense that I am able to choose my behaviour, and be responsible as a grown up. I don’t like that I gasped dramatically upon entering my child’s room and seeing this.
She heard me, and came running. She had taken down all of her precious trinkets, and arranged them on her desk, trailing down to the floor and beyond. I saw an hour’s work putting everything back. “Do you like it?” she smiled. “I did it for the fairies to come play in.” I nodded, and reprimanded myself for being a silly adult. We wrote a little note to the fairies, asking if they liked what she had done, and left the room. “They loved it!” she squealed upon her return. On the note-by way of reply-was a resounding yes! We constructed more of an area for the visiting fairies. I wondered when I had lost my sense of wonder, believing in order more than mystery, order rather than games. Once again, this precious little soul has taught me.
Jet black hair and olive skin, with eyes blue as the ocean and the cutest little dimple. I knew nothing of babies when I had you. I gathered they were like koala bears and slept eighteen hours a day (I know, right?!) You did nothing of the sort, preferring slumber lasting an hour a time, and no more than six in a twenty-four hour period. Yet, I felt more energized, having you in my world. Maybe it was the years of waiting and hoping that made this tolerable. My wide-awake child. The black tendrils of hair fell out, and were replaced by honey-blonde locks. You were always full of surprises. I will never forget shrieking in fright in our kitchen when I saw you, grinning at me. I had put you to bed, and you slumbered. It was time for mummy’s cuppa, and to see you standing there-after having climbed out of your crib-grinning at me, was priceless. You were a little over nine months of age. Always in a hurry. You held a family friend’s hand at three years of age as he was near to passing from this world. Your soft little hand in his aged, limpid hand. Unscripted and treasured. A gifted artist, your paintings make my heart soar. When I listen to you practice with your singing teacher, my whole being is uplifted. That voice which starts off nervously, then gathers strength. Sweet and lyrical as a little bird. I am so proud to be your mummy. There is nothing you need to do, say or be to earn this pride, this love. One day I will let this little bird fly and be independent. I cant wait to see who you become sweetheart.