Today it really hit me that my baby girl is no longer, a baby.
Glimmerings of this suggestion have flitted across my mind over the past couple of months, but today, it was a full-blown, feel-like-you’ve-been-hit-by-a-bus, Oprah-aha-moment, realisation.
Recently, I’ve been consciously trying to quash what I have accepted are my helicopter-parenting tendencies. You don’t even realise you’re doing it sometimes. Hovering close by no matter what your child is doing, ready to catch them if they slightly lose their balance, ready to defend their little toddler rights from other toddlers who may remotely upset them, trying to get them to do what you think they’d enjoy. I’m not trying to be self-deprecating; we all know it’s out of love and the instinctive need to protect our little people.
But the last couple of days have taught me just how beautiful those moments are when you give your child space and allow them to show you what an independent and confident little one they have become. Continue reading
Ah, travel. How my perspective of you has changed over the last few years.
There were those exciting trips to unknown and faraway places as a student; then there were the long-haul flights to visit my parents once a year; then there was that year or so during my job before Tuna was born where I started spending more time in planes than in any other mode of transport.
I have a confession to make. At that particular stage, I was 100%, through-and-through, one of those awful irritable passengers that saw a family travelling with anyone under the age of 12 as a threat to my in-flight serenity. Heaven forbid your child (a) sits behind me and kicks my seat mercilessly and/or seems to constantly have his/her tiny little hands rummaging through the back pocket; (b) makes a single noise that disturbs my in-flight entertainment zen, or worse, screams and is inconsolable (“are you going to do something?! Kids don’t cry for no reason, you know!“); or (c) generally does not behave. Like an adult, that is. Because that’s what cranky passengers like ex-me seem to expect. Continue reading
Well, that and the apparent bowling/high jump tournaments the upstairs neighbours have become fond of at approximately 10pm every night. Ah, apartment living. They should really schedule apartment viewings around this time of day so you know what you’re really getting yourself into.
I’ve been trying to train myself to be okay with ear plugs for the past couple of nights but frankly, I don’t see how anyone doesn’t see them as some kind of torture device. Instead of being kept up by various noises, I now find myself focusing on quantifying just how much the decibel level of a certain sound has been decreased thanks to these horrible little foam contraptions. Short answer: not enough. Continue reading