A kiss Goodnight

What if I don't remember the little details of being her mother in the days before her memory takes hold? What if I forget that the first time I put her to bed without nursing her I had tears in my eyes while she drank her cup of milk reading Goodnight Moon. What if I forget that when she lay down in her crib, belly full and a smile on her lips, she took her bunny and teddy bear and pressed their lips together with a kiss.

When she gets too old to kiss me on the lips what if I forget the day she first kissed me?

Tonight after she brushed her teeth in her father's arms, he handed her to me and she planted her minty mouth to mine. She pulled away and we both laughed. She kissed me again and again, laughing each time. Then her father said, Et Daddy? Bisous a Daddy? And when he leaned in for her to kiss him, she pushed her father's face towards mine, preferring that he kiss me instead.

What if I forget this? What if the pictures and even the words aren't enough to remember exactly how it felt to have her in my arms at the exact age she is now, to hold her so completely in my heart.

Hopefully some things are never forgotten.

How can I be lonely when she never leaves me alone?

The other day a grandmother at one of the morning play groups Eloise and I go to asked me if I find motherhood lonely. Now you know you're giving out super happy content-with-my-life vibes when a stranger who is currently spending her well earned retirement as an unpaid babysitter asks you if you could use a friend.

And sure, I guess I've been a little mopey lately because I'm unemployed and our savings are slowly seeping out of our bank account and I'm trying to stretch the household income as much as possible which means being frugal and not pampering myself as much (two things I am not good at) - but am I lonely? A 1 year old doesn't really give you time to be lonely, do they? I finish my day with Eloise and my feet hurt from running around with her and my cheeks hurt from smiling and my heart hurts from adoring.

And while I do sometimes need to make sure I get some adult conversation into my day I can think of quite a few people that are far less interesting to talk to than my 14-month old who knows all of 7 - wait - is meow a word, or a sound? - 6 words.

In hindsight

I wish I could go back to that new mother over a year ago and give her a glimpse of what is to come. I wish I could wipe away her tears. Not the tears of overwhelmed love, those were full and beautiful and worthy. But the tears of bewilderment. The tears because she couldn't see past this precious needy creature she had just brought forth in the world. Because she couldn't see that one day this mewling milk vomiting helpless little being who demanded so much of her would turn into a ray of light on toddling feet. That one day this being would wrap her arms around my neck every day and hug me. Hard. That one day she would wake up every morning and say Hi! That one day she would trust herself enough to let go of my hands and take her first steps. That so much sooner than I could have imagined she would love me back. Almost almost as much as I love her.

Douzieme mois avec Mademoiselle Eloise

Eloise,

At 15:59 a year ago today you came into this world and were placed in my arms. Arms that didn’t quite know what they were good at until they held you. Oh this year. This year that you will have no memory of. This space between 0 and 1 that belongs more to your father and me than it does you. This year that saw you go from an angry little bundle of reflexes and squishy poop to a near toddler who kisses her mother’s tummy to make her laugh and pouts when her father tells her no.

This is the year I discovered all the clichés are true. That your life does change. That your priorities shift. That you’ll love stronger than you ever thought physically possible.

We had a little gathering planned to mark your first birthday. Down at the pub that probably helped provide the libations that resulted in your conception. We invited old friends and new “mummy” friends to have a BBQ in the beer garden. I imagined watching you sitting on a tabletop in your little gingham dress with matching shoes, as we sung you happy birthday, me fighting back tears while you looked at each of our faces and smiled back at us. Then delighting in seeing you devour a piece of homemade birthday cake, covering your face and hair in icing.

Instead you appear to have caught the chicken pox and so the party amongst friends is cancelled. I had the chicken pox on my birthday too, when I turned 5. It wasn’t great. But my mom made the best of it and despite the fact that you won’t remember this, I’m going to try to make the best of it too. We’re not even entirely sure it is Chicken pox, but it is going around, you have some spots and miraculously you are sleeping better. How I wish this new sleeping pattern is just you finally reaching that oh so coveted milestone of sleeping through the night. But from the time you had your first round of vaccinations I know, when you’re sick, you sleep.

So instead we will have pancakes for breakfast, and I will attempt to make you a carrot cake, we will open presents and sing to you, and yes, at some point I will probably cry. In fact here’s a little warning for you - I will be that mom. That mom that cries whenever you sing on stage with your classmates, or receive an award for perfect attendance, or grow another year older. I can't help it. Enjoy my gushing displays of love and keep kleenex in your pocket and we should be fine.

I even cried a little putting you to bed on the night before you turned one. And I’m not entirely sure why. I think part of the reason is it can be hard watching you grow up, wanting to slow time down. But for the most part I am so excited to see what you'll do next that I don't have time to mourn the past. But I think it is also that I wish I could give you more. I know it seems silly to make a big deal about someone turning one when they won’t even remember the party, but you are so amazing Eloise. You have more personality in your little pinky than most people I know and you’re only 12 months old. You deserve so much, you deserve to be celebrated, you deserve elephants and acrobats. I’d give you the world if I could kid.

Nearly every night for the entire first year of your life I have held you in my arms. I have held you when your hot tears have drenched my cheek, held you when your face erupted in laughter, held you when your breath became slow and warm against my neck. And I will continue to hold you in my arms, carry your weight, carry your heart against my heart, your dreams nestled safely just below mine until your feet reach the ground and you can turn and walk away from me.

Happy Birthday my little Eloise.

I love you. Plus que jamais. Je t’aime

Maman

Getting the laundry done.

One of my favorite activities to do with Eloise is the simple task of hanging up the laundry together.

I'll either put her on a blanket in the garden with some toys while I put the laundry out on the clothes line or better yet I'll put her in the carrier or sling and let her help me. We'll squint our eyes in the sun, Eloise will touch the different fabrics while I attach the clothes with pegs and sing to her.

It's the time of the day I feel most Motherly. And thus the time of the day I am happiest.

Mommy Love vs. Daddy Love

I am of the opinion that mothers and fathers love their children differently, not more or better, but differently. And I think that's a good thing.

I am consumed by Eloise. I see her and I have an actual ache in my belly to gobble her up. I read some where that this desire mothers have to "eat" their babies is Mother Nature's way of making sure that we get plenty of contact with our young, pick up whatever germs and diseases they're carrying so that our immune system can create the antibodies and pass those along in our breastmilk. I don't know about all that, but if those cheeks and thighs weren't made to be snacked on then they shouldn't make them so deliciously rolly polly.

The other day I was telling Eloise that she was my favorite person in the whole world. Her father was in the room, overheard me and laughed. I asked him if Eloise had replaced me as his favorite person and he said non, it was still me his favori.

Now I have no doubt that the Frenchman ADORES his daughter. He worries constantly about her well being. He marvels at her progress, her strength, her budding intelligence. The best part of his day is when Eloise flashes him a big beaming smile when he walks in the door.

But I think it makes sense that while Eloise has become my favorite person, I still hold that title for her Father. Mother's lose themselves in their children - at least at first - and I think part of the Father's job is to make sure the Mother doesn't lose herself completely.

I would have fallen apart a million times over if it weren't for the patience and understanding of this man.

If I am a good mother it is because of the space and confidence he gives me to do so.

More show than tell.

Eloise hasn't been sleeping very well lately. Which means I haven't been sleeping well lately. Which means my brain is foggy and slow. So instead of attempting to write about our day yesterday, I'm just going to show you instead.

Days like these

There are some days when she is restless. When she seems unhappy with her lot in life and I cannot figure out what she needs to smile again. Days I get the feeling she wishes she wasn't a baby anymore. Not today.

She happily went into her carrier. She tilted her head and smiled at the old woman cooing at her on the bus. She enjoyed her signing class (although I can't say she payed much attention to the teacher) and on our walk back home she took in the world around her and every once in a while would lock eyes with mine and give me the sweetest Oh! You're still here! YES! Smile and then carry on taking in the sights.

We came home, and after lunch of chicken and leeks, dried fruit and green beans we took a nap together in my bed, her fuzzy head resting just under my chin. She woke up and started pushing her little hands on the small of my back. Then we hid under the blankets, me pretending to gobble her up, she laughing.

She resisted her afternoon nap (when I usually do some housework and spend my one hour of "me" time a day watching my t.v. show). So instead I set up the play mat, scattered some toys on the ground and sat down with her - putting the t.v. on in the background. I was quickly distracted from the quick quips of the Gilmore Girls by Eloise laughing at her teddy bear dancing and singing. So I continued to make her bear dance and sing just to hear her sweet giggle, until she rubbed her eyes and I took her upstairs to get in a quick nap before dinner.

Some days being her mother is the easiest job with the biggest rewards.

I guess this means I'm officially a Mommy Blogger

There is a 4 and a half year age gap between my sister and me. I always thought a 4 year age gap between kids seemed like a good idea. A 4 year old is out of diapers, able to help out in their own little way, and can at the very least sit still long enough for you to explain that they’re going to be a big brother/sister.

Then we had Eloise. Within a week I told the Frenchman that I didn’t think I could wait 4 years for another one. He agreed.

Too cute. Must. Make. MORE.

So we said, well, lets wait and see what kind of a 2 year old Eloise is and maybe go for a second kid.

Sarah at BecomingSarah.com wrote a post about how she only needed 6 months to decide that she was ready to try and make another baby. When I read that, I thought well, to each their own and all but that’s cuhrazy talk.

Then Eloise started growing up. It was a small moment. She waved her hand at me. Very slowly and deliberately and I realized that sooner than I would like she would no longer be a baby but a full blown kid. And I am just not ready to live my life without a baby in it.

Now I still need to get The Frenchman on board with the idea of keeping our lives filled with dirty nappies and 3am wake-ups at a continual pace, but reading Sarah’s post was comforting to know that I was not alone in the desire to have more babies sooner rather than later.

But I don't want to share you Mama!

Sarah’s adorable daughter Charlotte is only a couple days younger than Eloise so I have been able to relate to a lot of her posts - we both certainly did our fair share of complaining about the havoc our bodies were putting us through while pregnant.

She has an awesome blog. Killer design. Jealous inducing photos. Great writing.

She is doing a wonderful thing at the moment - encouraging literacy and urging parents to read to/with their children from a young age. This includes giving away children’s books – so get on over there and try and start or increase your children’s book collection.

She also has happened to do a feature on little ole me. I know! Her blog is like super famous now and I’m on it! Check out my interview here.

If you’ve just found my little corner of the intermaweb from Sarah’s site – Hi! If I could I would give you an awkward* fist bump and a big old goofy smile for stopping by.

*not because it is awkward "meeting" new people (yay new people!) but because I'm just not sure I can pull off the fist bump without looking like I'm trying too hard. The big goofy smile I have no problem with.

Septieme mois avec Mademoiselle Eloise

Eloise –

Do you know that there is not a day that goes by that I do not pause and look at your face and wonder what I did to deserve such a beautiful, funny, and curious daughter? I will admit that those first few weeks of motherhood were difficult. I struggled. Not with the loving you part – loving you came at me so hard and fast that it physically hurt. But I struggled with the drastic change in my life. Struggled with being responsible every second of every minute of every hour for a tiny beautiful being that at first could only poop and cry and suckle the life force out of me. I took advantage of your long naps to go get my haircut or get a massage or get a beer. It was all so overwhelming and I needed a break. Not a break from you, but a break from becoming your mother.

When I would finally get you to sleep around midnight I would feel euphoric at having a few adult hours to myself before you woke up again. My how things have changed since then. Now when I put you to bed it seems too soon to say goodnight. Too soon to end our day full of messy meals, and reading stories, and dancing in your bedroom and building forts.

I miss you when you sleep. I miss you even more when you’re at nursery. You are by far my most favorite person to spend time with in the whole world.

You were a little sick a few weeks ago with what we thought was the chicken pox. To play it safe we stayed home from all of our usual groups and classes so as not to infect any of your little colleagues. Normally a week without adult company save for your father at night would have driven me crazy, but you’re now at an age where you are all the company I need.

We’re becoming more adventurous with food – you heart bagels a whole lot – especially if I splash out on some cream cheese. You make the most adorable grunting sound while mashing the bagel in your mouth, like you’re annoyed that you don’t have the proper tools to get this unbelievable deliciousness in your belly faster. Yeah, still no teeth. But seeing how hard you can gum my nipple when you’re distracted while feeding I’m quite happy for those teeth to stay where they are a while longer.

Speaking of annoyed, even your new friends at nursery noticed how frustrated you get at being a baby. From about the age of 3 months your father and I picked up on how you would seem to get angry at the limitations of your little baby body and the staff at your nursery mentioned the same thing to me when I picked you up the other day. “It’s like she wishes she could do a lot more than she’s physically capable of”.

I know you’re frustrated, but don’t be in such a hurry to grow up. I’d miss you too much.

Je t’aime

Maman

Still under Mickey's thumb...

...but we're ready to take him down.

smitten kitten

Her eyelashes are darker today. More curled. Her cheeks a rosy pink from our walk. Just when I thought she could not be any more beautiful than she already is. She is in a great mood and I could spend the rest of my life flirting with my baby.

On letting her go

My head says it will teach her to socialize with others. My head says it will expose her to new sights and sounds. My head says it will teach her to enjoy getting her hands dirty. My head says she will make new friends. My head says she will be looked after by people who love children, who have chosen to look after children for a living. My head says she will learn not to be attached to only me. My head says she will develop and grow and learn and laugh in her nursery.

My heart. My heart is breaking.

One family, under Mom.

Not to blow hard and heavy on my own shiny trumpet over here but there are a fair amount of aspects of Motherhood that I was pretty convinced I would excel at. Story telling, sing-a-longs – got those down.

Songs have come flooding back to my memory from childhood – Alice the camel is back, Miss Mary Mack has made an appearance, the monkeys are back on that bed jumping like crazy despite doctors orders, I got grouches rolling over, I got speckled frogs going against common advice and going for a swim straight after eating, Peter Pan, Dumbo and Pete’s Dragon have all come flying out of my mouth. I haven’t stopped at children’s songs. I belt out Helter Skelter when she’s crying until she realizes she can’t compete and stares at her crazy Beatle loving mother acting like she’s preparing for X Factor auditions. I softly sing Joni Mitchell and Johnny Cash when her eyes start drooping. I croon along with Frank and Sammy Davis Jr. when Eloise and I need to shake off the blues .

I’m quite happy spending large portions of my day pulling funny faces, making animal noises, shaking my body like a scarecrow – as long as it makes her laugh. (The scarecrow move kills at our house by the way).



I can jiggle and rock until she rests her head in the crook of my neck and those pink-rimmed little eyes finally shut. Give her a big mama bear hug when she’s upset and whisper in her ear how much I love her.

But I also knew there would be aspects of Motherhood I would not excel at and the biggest one is accepting Fatherhood and its importance in my our baby’s life.



For the majority of my upbringing it was just me, my mother and my sister. Even before my parents got divorced it was a bit of a tag-team parenting style from what I can gather and I rarely saw my mom and dad parent together. My mother did an incredible job raising my sister and me (warning – gross maternal bias about to be uttered in the next 4 seconds) – one of us has devoted 2 years of her life to serve the Peace Corps in Mozambique and lives each day with compassion and integrity and the other one made a baby so cute and edible there are talks of putting her on the Tour d’Argent menu. I think somewhere along the way though I picked up the idea that parenting is a job that should really be done alone. No need to confer major decisions or deal with your kid playing you and your partner off each other. One family, under Mom.

I realized I felt this way when I would fantasize about my future children and never once was there a father in the picture. So when the Frenchman and I decided to have kids I made a point to force him into my mental picture. And I thought that once Eloise was born I would instantly feel that we were a family. Not so.

For a long time I think I kind of felt like a single mother. Having had more experience with children I naturally took the lead in the first few weeks. The Frenchman quickly learned the baby ropes though and by the time she was a month I thought, we’re a family now, right? But I knew deep down I still felt like this parenting gig was mine and mine alone.

And it’s not that the Frenchman is a deadbeat dad by any stretch of the imagination. He LOVES our baby. Adores her. She is his raison d’etre and he continues to be amazed by her beauty and her strength. But it is me that stays up for 40 minutes at 3am feeding her. It is me that takes her to the doctor for her shots. Me that gets vomited on all day. Me that puts her to sleep. Takes her to play group each day. Dances around to make her laugh. Well – until the weekend that is.

Which is all normal. I am of course the one who is at home during the week getting my government maternity pay (that doesn’t cover the rent) to make sure my child flourishes under my watch. My partner of course goes off every weekday to make sure we can pay the rent, occasionally spoil the baby and not starve.

But as the months dragged on I still didn’t feel that family unity that I was expecting. I Still felt that Eloise and I were one unit and the Frenchman an occasional plus one. Until a few weeks ago. 16 weeks after Eloise was born. I was nursing her in her room before bed. Dim lights, Buena Vista Social club playing softly in the background. In walked Eloise’s father, smiling at the two women in his life. Eloise unlatched herself from my breast to turn and look at her Daddy. He came closer and knelt next to us. She then reached out her tiny hand and began to stroke her father’s bearded face. Slowly. Deliberately. She smiled and then turned back to nurse. And there we were.



A family.

29 hours and 20 minutes too long

29 hours and 20 minutes apart. It should have been 53 hours. We have a very stubborn daughter who spent over 20 hours of those 29 refusing to eat. Paris did not turn out as planned. I spent the time there with what felt like a bag of knives in my stomach, fitfully sleeping with dreams of accidentally drowning Eloise from my negligence. 300 euros later I was on a eurostar heading back home to stop my baby from becoming dangerously dehydrated and having to go to hospital.

As I lessened the distance between me and my heart I stared at the ceiling of the train so as not to burst into a fit of guilty tears.

My work once let me go to a conference about women in the workplace. A feisty Canadian was giving us pointers on how to better control our emotions at work. Rightly or wrongly, the ability to burst into tears in an open plan office is not a skill often sought in an employee. The Canadian said if you feel yourself getting close to tears, look up. Looking up is connected with reason and logic. Looking down is connected with our emotions and feelings.

So there I was staring at the ceiling of the Eurostar train in hopes of not turning into the wailing childless mother in seat 62A when it dawned on me. When we raise our children we are looking down at them through an emotional filter. Reason does not apply to a mother whose child needs her. Our hearts are swollen watching their face look up at ours. And then they grow up, and they are bigger than us. If we have done a good job they will have surpassed us. And we will look up to them with reason at the incredible adult before us. It will be their turn to look down at us and be filled with emotion at the sight of us as the aging person who sacrificed what we could to give them this view.

Oh my goodness!

I was going through some pictures on my iPhoto to see if I wanted to edit any. My uncle has been going through old photos and sending a few of them to me, which I then put into my iPhoto library.

I came across this picture of my mother and me when I was about 5 months old:



And then this one of Eloise:

It took me a minute to realize it was my daughter and not me. But on further inspection it is so great to see the many differences between us. I cannot wait to watch her grow into her own little person.

I knew motherhood would be hard work, and I knew it would be an intense love but I had no idea how exciting motherhood would be. I spend large portions of the day feeling giddy at just the idea of what is to come. Not just giddy, but ohmygoodness! ohmygoodness! how many sleeps till Christmas? kind of excited. The holidays, the first words, the first swim in the sea,the first trip to the zoo, the first time we bake cookies together, the first time she holds my hand to cross the street, the first time she hugs me back - the list goes on and on.

I had also come across pictures of the Frenchman and me on our last holiday as a childless couple. And instead of feeling a longing for what used to be I thought : ohmygoodness ohmygoodness one day we get to take Eloise to the Aquarium to see the fishies!!!!!