Ever have one of those moments when you realize what you are saying sounds more like a haiku recited in Klingon that an actual sentence?
No?
Just me?
Figures.
Ever feel that because the majority of your conversations are with people who are below the age of five that you start to loose the ability to actually carry on a conversation with someone who is able to distinguish between a cheerio and a piece of crayon (choosing to NOT put either in their mouth)? I used to think it was just because my days, were in fact, spent predominately with a munchkin, that my language skills were fading, but even now, when I'm working and dealing with 'grown ups' on a daily basis, I still find my tongue and my brain at odds with one another.
Which, to say the very least, can be a tad bit embarassing.
I'm hoping, that a little further down the track, my brain will kick in again, and I shall once more be able to speak intelligently on a topic and not feel like I just lost about 20 IQ points.
One can hope.
K
I'm not particularly fond of dentists. Anyone who's job in life is to stick their fingers in other people's mouths all day has always struck me as somewhat suspicious. But someone has to do it, and in the grand scheme of things, we all want to have nice teeth, so I see the need for them. But really, why would anyone choose to be a dentist?
Little P had her first check up recently, and apparently she was a real trooper (I wasn't there, I made M take her, cause, you know, I had to go to work....) and she 'did a good job' (one of Little P's favorite sayings at the moment). M was totally impressed with the dentist - he's friendly, knows what he's doing and isn't pushy. Which I guess, is what we all want in someone who is looking down at you and sticking things that look like medieval torture devices in you mouth for the better part of an hour.
I mentioned, purely in passing, to another Mommy who I ran into at a park later that week, that Little P had been to the dentist, and I was regaled with a tirade of how horrible her little one's first trip to the dentist had been. Normally this wouldn't have bothered me, but let me point out a couple of things.
Firstly, I'm not 'super friendly' with this Momma (she's a friend of a friend) so I didn't need to spend the better part of half an hour listening to her go on and on about this. And secondly, if anyone needs to spend some time in a dentist's chair, it's her, cause (to quote Donkey) she 'definitely needs some Tic Tac's or something because her breath STINKS!' I had a hard time concentrating on what she was saying and interjecting with the appropriate responses while trying not to faint from what was coming out of her mouth every time she opened it.
Tell me, how do people NOT know they have smelly breath? Do the people around them choose not to say something because they don't want to offend, worried that it might actually be a genetic thing that they can't really control? Or is it like when you plug in a new air freshener and you can smell it for like the first couple of days, but then you get used to it so you don't smell it anymore? Or do people simply just not care?
If I knew her better (as in knowing her last name, being a friend on FB or even actually just being able to remember her kids name) I would have worked out a polite way to point out that every time she opened her mouth I was getting hit with a very strong odor of really old, stinky cheese, and that maybe, for the sake of her own health (not to mention the safety of others) she should get that looked at. But I don't, so I didn't and I continued to suffer in silence.
Thankfully, just as I was thinking of ways to cover my nose and mouth without it potentially offending her, Little P came over and told me she was hungry, so we left to get something to eat, and I was able to start breathing through my nose again without feeling like I was going to throw up every time I took a breath.
So, yeah, that was my afternoon. How was yours?
K
I yelled at my baby girl today. And it made her cry. And I felt like a complete heel afterwards. I know that it's not something that she will remember, but I also know that it's not something that I will quickly forget.
Yes, I know logically, that we all yell at our kids. Sometimes it's to get their attention, sometimes it's to stop them from doing something stupid (or dangerous), and sometimes it's because they did something stupid (or dangerous). And other times it's just out of frustration, pure and simple.
Don't misunderstand me, I've raised my voice to Little P numerous times, usually because of one of the things mentioned above, but till this day, I had never, never, actually yelled at her. And it really wasn't her fault or anything she did. It was just a 'perfect storm' of things that built up and I, well, snapped.
It wasn't her fault that I was stuck in heinous traffic, or that I was surrounded by complete moron's who had less driving ability than Sheldon Cooper. It most certainly wasn't her fault that I was almost doubling over in pain thanks to Mother Nature's wonderful monthly visitor, and it kind of wasn't her fault I was tired (although the hour and change that I was awake with her in the middle of the night last night certainly didn't help). And normally her asking me the same question over and over (and over and over) again wouldn't have bugged me that much. But you put all of them together and you get a recipe for Mount Vesuvius - and that's what happened. I exploded.
And I made Little P cry.
If it had of been one of the 'I'm not sure why you just yelled at me, but I'm gonna cry anyway' kind of cry, I could have been okay with that, because those are the ones that you can quickly turn around into laughing if you know the right things to say or do. No, this was a 'the world is exploding' kind of cry, with the great big gap between sobs as she's trying to catch her breath.
If I had of been able to pull over and just give her a big cuddle and let her cry it out, I would have, but we were on the highway, still a good 15 minutes from home and there wasn't much I could do.
So, I did what any self-respecting Mother who is trying to stop her little one from crying would do. I put on her favorite song and listened to it, on repeat, all the way home.
By the time we were listening to it for the third time, she was down to just the sniffles and 'singing' along. By the time we got home, she was all smiles and talking about the things that 2 year olds talk about.
See, all but forgotten. At least on her end it was.
I may have given her bigger and longer cuddles that night, and maybe, just maybe, I read her favorite story more than once (try 10 ten times). And I may have let her sit on my lap just rocking and talking till she was ready to go to sleep. And maybe, just maybe, I might have stayed in her room watching her sleep for a little while. And that's okay.
There will come a day in the not so distant future when her and I will butt heads. And we will yell at each other. There will probably be name calling and the slamming of a door or two, but at the end of the day, this little girl is going to know that no matter what is said in a moment of frustration, I will always, always love her.
Because I carry her heart with me, I carry it in my heart.
Till next time, remember to always take time to squeeze your babies.
K
