Seven Months
It sounds so grown up.
I remember when six weeks sounded inconceivably big.
Seven months.
Seven month year olds are obviously people (even though I felt mine were obviously people, even before they were born).
Seven month year olds have a will, which they excercise, and little teeth, and they try and crawl (backwards) and they put up their arms to be lifted and in the morning, when they see me, they smile and smile and smile.
They are also sick.
They have been throwing up and pooing for several days now - after a visit to le grand swimming pool at Le CentrParcs.
It is a measure of the degree to which I have thrown myself into motherhood that rather than, say, taking a clapped out bus down a mountain side in Eritrea, or flying in a beat up old Antanov into a war zone in central Asia, my idea of a really, really fulfilling holiday is getting three hours to myself at the faux turkish spa at CentreParcs.
Total immersion, that's what this motherhood is all about.
In fact, sometimes I worry that I have immersed myself a little too much. And that my children might cotton on that they are now the centre of my life and that I've abandoned all other interests just to coo and stroke them. So I've decided that one day fairly soon - say a year or so away - I will work, just so that they don't know quite how much they mean to me.
I grew up knowing that my parents had another life, and I have always been grateful that they never pushed the burden of their happiness onto us children.
Feeling a bit pooped. Have been pooed on and sicked on today and traipsed around the shops looking for baby shoes and dealt with a crying baby on a bus.
Going to make some pasta with sage sauce, a cup of tea... and go to bed.
I hope all of you out there in blog land passing by are well.
(BTW: I read a novel about a boy leaving home and spent a lot of last night feeling sad about the children growing up and going to university and leaving me with an empty house. I suddenly understand every cliche about empty nest syndrome. I cannot forget the line I read - that children are the centre of their parents lives - while parents are never more than bit part players in the lives of their children).
I remember when six weeks sounded inconceivably big.
Seven months.
Seven month year olds are obviously people (even though I felt mine were obviously people, even before they were born).
Seven month year olds have a will, which they excercise, and little teeth, and they try and crawl (backwards) and they put up their arms to be lifted and in the morning, when they see me, they smile and smile and smile.
They are also sick.
They have been throwing up and pooing for several days now - after a visit to le grand swimming pool at Le CentrParcs.
It is a measure of the degree to which I have thrown myself into motherhood that rather than, say, taking a clapped out bus down a mountain side in Eritrea, or flying in a beat up old Antanov into a war zone in central Asia, my idea of a really, really fulfilling holiday is getting three hours to myself at the faux turkish spa at CentreParcs.
Total immersion, that's what this motherhood is all about.
In fact, sometimes I worry that I have immersed myself a little too much. And that my children might cotton on that they are now the centre of my life and that I've abandoned all other interests just to coo and stroke them. So I've decided that one day fairly soon - say a year or so away - I will work, just so that they don't know quite how much they mean to me.
I grew up knowing that my parents had another life, and I have always been grateful that they never pushed the burden of their happiness onto us children.
Feeling a bit pooped. Have been pooed on and sicked on today and traipsed around the shops looking for baby shoes and dealt with a crying baby on a bus.
Going to make some pasta with sage sauce, a cup of tea... and go to bed.
I hope all of you out there in blog land passing by are well.
(BTW: I read a novel about a boy leaving home and spent a lot of last night feeling sad about the children growing up and going to university and leaving me with an empty house. I suddenly understand every cliche about empty nest syndrome. I cannot forget the line I read - that children are the centre of their parents lives - while parents are never more than bit part players in the lives of their children).
posted by katty at 11:33 AM
3 Comments:
Wow! 7 months! I can remember reading your blog when they were born! And I was still pregnant! And now I have 6.5 month old twins ... It's amazing how quickly they grow. But the real question is, where are some cute pics to show off your beautiful ladies?!?
7 months! Our children were born within 1 day of each other, so this means that mine is also 7 months.
My, my, my how time flies. It's so sad and so scary all at once.
That line about being a bit player is just too depressing.
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