Eating Words.
BC Parent Nov. 1999
Motherhood is a grand adventure, an ever changing enterprise, and I love it. From the moment I found out I was pregnant with our first child, I found myself imagining scenarios in which I, as a profoundly innovative parent, would excel. My children would be the epitome of everything good, everything positive…. they would be perfect.
Those were the good old days. My view of parenting has risen to a higher plain… I have evolved. Children are the ultimate learning curve. Gone are the days when I passed judgement on haggard mothers treading water in the sea of parenthood.
My education has been hard won. Having been quick to voice an opinion I have, over the years, eaten many words. It’s as if a smorgasbord was being prepared before the inception of the child.
After the birth of my baby I started noticing the letters in my alphabet soup forming words; entire phrases would float to the surface and await the dip of my spoon. Every uttered disapproval appeared; some sentences harder to swallow than others. I was entering the world of gourmet linguistic cuisine; a virtual feast of passing comments, snide remarks and outright criticisms.
I have learned that seasonings such as humor go a long way in making the meal more palatable. I have also discovered there is a supreme being somewhere who relishes in keeping score; it watches, takes notes and when you least expect it, lowers the boom. Everything I vowed, pledged or promised would never happen in my home, did.
I recall rolling my eyes at children throwing tantrums in the grocery store, suddenly they looked like angels when compared to the fiend having a fit in my buggy. As I rifled through the diaper bag, vainly searching for something to squelch the racket, elderly ladies pointed bony, accusing fingers in my direction, tisking something about mothers today and nap times. I remember wondering if the now empty diaper bag was large enough to stuff my child in… or better yet, open wide enough to swallow me.
That was the appetizer… the hours d’oeuvre.
Eating words became daily fare, a food trend for a novice parent. While my single friends experimented with sushi, I wiped chocolate pudding off the walls. I formed a silent camaraderie with other mothers. Wordless messages exchanged in the howling corners of the changing room at the pool, side long glances in the pre-school parking lot. My days began to revolve around Big Bird and nap times, and doctors appointments and bowel movements. My working clothes slipped further back into the closet as my high heels clumped around the kitchen… the glass slippers of an imaginary princess and the faded memory of my sanity.
This wasn’t supposed to happen to me. I proclaimed years ago I would not become obsessed with domesticities.
Add this to the soup de jour.
The children entered elementary school and diaper days disappeared. I washed the last of the crayon off the walls and focused on things academic. My children would be honor roll students, they would win spelling bees and athletic awards. They would be voted to student council and star in the school play. All of the things which I had craftily avoided in my youth. After all, I knew the ropes … they couldn’t hide from a pro.
The entree had arrived. The full-meal deal.
Sprinkled between servings of library fines and forgotten gym strips, were portions of tardiness and undone homework.
The words are getting harder to swallow. The teenage years approach and I am beginning to regret ever having voiced an opinion about anything. I’m having nightmares about bowls full of ‘too much makeup’ and ‘unexplained absences from school’. I awaken with indigestion from merely reading the menu while I sleep.
There is comfort in the fact that my meal is exactly what I ordered…. a unique combination of flavors; some sweet, other spicy. Peppered throughout my days are helpings of dessert; delicious moments which I savor, morsels so scrumptious that even the boldest words seem easier to swallow.
Comments (1)
One of my favorites!