To my three children,
if you only knew how much each of you mean to me.
How you were connected to me in-utero via an umbilical cord and hence, creating that little belly button of yours.
How each of your every achievements are my joy and pride, and each hurt and disappointment, my pain.
What hurt the most was not seeing you appreciate the things that were given to you at times. And it showed earlier today, and I raised my hand to smack you, Ollie, and you, Quentin. Sarah, you cried as your brothers yelped in pain. You weren’t sure of the me that was disciplining your brothers.
I was tired and frustrated. I felt like a failure, failing to raise my children properly. How could I instill the love that I had for them and have them translated into action?
I had a 6 year old who was nonchalantly eating his dinner, ignoring the fact that there was a 6.45pm deadline to keep the toys, otherwise it will go into the bin. Why? Because he didn’t really care for the toys anymore, and couldn’t be bothered about whether they went into the bin or not. Afterall, his brother was the one who played more with it.
I had a 4 year old who wanted everyone to ‘suffer’ with him and refused to keep it alone. The task was ‘boring’ and ‘it would take forever’. This was despite trying to explain to him earlier today that keeping the toys properly was for the next user, and to ensure that the toys were being taken care of properly.
This is despite drilling into them that they had to keep their toys at the end of the day, EVERY FUCKING DAY. This is despite telling the 4 year old that he will have shit loads of stuff to put away when he kept taking drawers of train tracks out from his room.
‘I will keep it later’ he had said. I gave him the benefit of doubt and held him to it. Was I stupid to do so? He is only 4 year old after all.
Maybe I had too much expectations of the 6 year old. He is..smart afterall. And I don’t mean that in a boastful way. It is so enjoyable to have a conversation with him because he speaks like an adult, and ask adult questions. I can explain concepts and principles to him and he understands it quickly. It was just so much easier to discipline him, to explain the rationale behind my actions.
The 4 year old is on another plane altogether. Trying to deal head on with him brings out the childish side of both Donald and I. It really does, it makes us mimic his behaviour just so that he can get a taste of his own medicine. But at the end of it all, he doesn’t get the morale of the story.
It made me question, what was it that I had done in my every day interactions with them that made them this way? What was it that I had ended up instilling into them?
Smacking obviously wasn’t the answer. I apologised for smacking them, and I had the 6 year old not angry at me anymore, and the 4 year old saying ‘no problem!’. And we all agreed to try again tomorrow.
The baby of the family is an empath..sorta. She cries when she sees her brothers in pain. She cried when she saw me crying whilst disciplining Oliver. I picked her up and she was stroking my face and crying as I teared. And tonight, she requested that she got put to bed in her cot when our usual was to co-sleep together until she fell asleep before I transferred her into her cot.
Are our co-sleeping days over, just like that? I should be glad she wants to sleep on her own I guess. Donald was just complaining about how Sarah needs her space and would fuss each time she came into contact with Quentin in the single bed. I rolled my eyes. Tell that to the dad who wants to co-sleep with his daughter EVEN THOUGH she is ready to sleep on her own bed. Good one.
This game of parenting, so tough, so arduous the journey. A love hate relationship/ Trying to maintain that balance between sanity and insanity, not wanting the kids to turn away from me. Setting that groundwork and building it up together for the years ahead.
Will you still love me tomorrow? I sure as hell hope so, cos I love you guys shitloads.