I shoed Megan and Justin out the door around 5:30PM assuring
them we were more than capable to all get along and my mom was flying into town
later that evening, so I wouldn’t be outnumbered. We had a great evening of
playing at the park, eating a well balanced dinner of whatever they would eat
(Danika opted for toast, strawberries and apple pieces. Whatever.) Danika and I ate ice-cream sandwiches and watched a Christmas
movie in the month of September. After I put Natalie to bed this is where things started to sort of go downhill.
My mom’s flight was delayed so she didn’t arrive until seven
the following morning and after her sleeping in my car for the night, an hour
from Megan’s house - like mother like daughter as I did the same thing when I
has an early flight to New Brunswick - and I slept on an air mattress where my
energy was spent keeping myself warm rather than actually sleeping, we were
pretty well spent before the day even got started. The day was comprised of
three meltdowns (I almost had one myself), and a full day of struggling to
entertain two kids with a dog on a rainy day. I left Megan’s house at eight
that evening and heading straight for my friend Julia’s ranch, where I drank
some red with appys, where I confided to my two girlfriends that I felt like I
failed pretty hard at being an Aunt that day. After a mere 24 hours of watching
these two kids, even with my mom graciously granting me a two hour window where
I could run seven miles of relief, I still left that house pretty close to
tears.
Honestly, I don’t know how to parent. I know how to Play
Hard with the girls and be the silly (and sometimes airheaded) Aunt that manages
to convine them to eat their dinner when Megan’s about to jump of the ledge.
Before this weekend, I was happy enough to say I could change a poopy diaper
and leave it to that. I don’t know how to discipline or have important
conversations with tiny humans. I was unsure when to ignore a sassy comment from
the eight year old, or when to hold tight on a discussion with her about a bad
word coming out of her mouth, in which she retaliates that it wasn’t even a real swear word. After
telling her that if it isn’t a nice or kind word, it shouldn’t be said, and the
conversation ended with her rushing off in tears. But I wasn’t the only one who
created some hurt feelings as she openly counted down the hours until her Dad
and Megan came home and Natalie cried for mum,
mum, mum whenever such items as a toothbrush was taken away.
I mean, it wasn’t all bad. We had a great time at the park,
had some pretty fun conversations and kitchen dance parties and the night ended
with an unrequested and very unexpected hug and an I love you, Auntie. Danika uses Kirstin and Auntie interchangeably,
which I’m completely good with, but when she selects the second option, it
always makes my heart happy.
To all the mum’s out there, I don’t know you do it,
specifically mothers, who still take on the majority of the child raising while
working a[nother] full time job. It’s simply incomprehensible, I couldn’t
imagine doing that Every. Single. Day. I have full respect for all those women
who choose to raise any child. And I know you mother’s out there keep telling
me that the tantrums, the sleep deprivations, the diaper-rash-cream-body-paint-incidents
are all worth it, but I’m going to take your word on it, because it’s just not,
as Megan says, it’s not my cup of tea.
So, after a good night, wine induced, sleep and a easy three
mile run, I’m able to make my way up to the barbecue, take between my legs with
a game in hand for Danika and Natalie. I can’t help thinking, will they forgive
me?
Kindly,
Kirstin
The way we talk to children becomes their inner voice.
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