simple precious mama moments
Friday, July 3rd, 2009by Mama
Stratford-Upon-Avon, England
At home she was Mama’s girl. Within weeks of being on the road she was Dadda’s girl, and far more fiercely so than she had ever been attached to me. This special fondness for Dadda was initially a precious growing closeness, something we had hoped for with Dadda being more physically present. But soon it progressed to a complete exclusion of the Mama, to the point of little toddler not wanting anything to do with me (not to sit on my lap, not to walk beside me, not to hold my hand, not to have her face washed by me, not even to talk to me – except to say, “I love Dadda, I don’t love you.”) What would you have done with/for/about/to this two-year-old?
We wondered if ignoring the behaviour would leave room for her feelings to soften towards me, but months passed and her actions intensified. You really can’t ignore that kind of thing and remain in relationship with a little someone. Whenever *I* got involved with her, conflict resulted. And in order to not disturb the people around us, Rob would take over to calm the girl. Exactly what she wanted. She was calling the shots. But she was not happy. She was not secure. Every night she was waking crying inconsolably, and not just once a night.
Finally, I suggested she needed her parents to take some control. We were not about to go home and give her the old way of life with its routines and predictabilities back, but we could create some consistency for her. I wasn’t sure it would work, but I dreamed up a non-confrontational way of taking control. Rob was dubious, but willing to try my outrageous plan. For a time (undetermined how long; we would evaluate regularly) Rob would take over all care for ER(then)2. He would get her up, choose her clothes, hand her food, dictate naptime, administer correction, help her when needed (except for toiletting – I would still get to walk her out across the sand to the squat longdrop – we were in Mongolia at the time. She had never questioned me performing this duty and so I continued with it). I would all but give up the relationship with my baby.
And so we tried it, me hoping that distance would make the heart grow fonder. With every toilet stop, ER2 would remind me, “I love Dadda, I don’t love you.” I would take her hand, and sometimes through tears attributed to a sandstorm or cold temperature, I would confirm, “I will always love you darling. I will look after you and care for you.”
Removing opportunities for her to fight against me resulted (predictably perhaps) in less conflict. And after about a week she slept all night. It would take quite a few more weeks before she would bring me a flower to look at, before she would want to say *good morning*, before she would ask me to sing to her at night (as I had done every night since birth), before she would ride happily in the wrap. It would be months before she would say, “I love you Mama.”
This afternoon five of us wandered along the public footpath (really just a track through the fields, little more than a mown strip through long grasses, and in some places, not even that) just a few yards from where we are parked.
ER3 held my hand and skipped alongside me.
At the time I wanted to know it was going to work, but when we embarked on this unnatural course of action, I had no idea if it would. I wanted to hurry the process, but held back, taking cues from spontaneous signals coming from ER. I still don’t know if it was the right – or even the best – thing to do, but given the circumstances – and the outcome – it would appear it was not the worst option.
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Walking along today with a three-year-old, five-year-old and six-year-old in absolute silence for fifteen minutes was also precious. (There was a ten-year-old too, but she has no trouble being quiet, so it was nothing out of the ordinaryl!) They all wanted to view foxes and knew no fox would appear if frightened. So silence reigned supreme. Although aware of the understandable reluctance to make a noise, the disappearance of the path and increased chance of sharing our route with snakes made me encourage them to give up the golden silence and make a merry noise. They recounted all the things they had been hearing in the silence:
wind whistling
grasses swishing,
mower whirring
aeroplane zooming,
way off
in the distance
a car speeding.
horses neighing
dogs barking,
birds singing
feet tromping
was that
really
a ladybug laughing?
simply precious
Time on the road: none
Distance covered: okm
rayres