This is a weird post. A post that
describes a week in a manner that may get me haggled or stoned in the streets –
but, I know some of you secretly wonder, or severely berate yourselves inwardly
because of this.
I was tasked with looking after
my two cousins, aged 13 and 10. This is far from a difficult age, in the idea
that nappies, milk, waking hours, weeping, teething and constant care aren’t
needed. I am not completely discounting the fact that I had a pubescent teen on
my hands, and who happens to tower over me thanks to lengthy genes and
3-day-a-week-gymnastic bouts. Let’s not forget the 10-year-old who is at the
age of gimmick-games, and who can be heard pit-patting through the house at 5am
to play xBox quietly.
I was prepared, having looked
after these two a few times when they were babies, we’re family, I can handle
it. HA! Was I wrong! I made it to Thursday till I completely cracked in half,
weeping to my mother on the phone as she laughed back, I could almost hear her
nodding in sweet revenge and thinking rather too loudly “I had the same thing with you”...
I wanted to write this post, not
to pick apart how horrendous these kids behaved – because they were incredibly
well-behaved, up and ready for school, and even though I had to ask a few times
they always came to help with chores, but which kids don’t need coaxing with
chores.
I wanted this post to explore the
idea of parenting (and possible parenting for me). I am at that age where
people now ask me at family gatherings or at events (even though I am single)
“So, when are you going to start having kids?” My Dad would be over the moon if
I announced, in whatever situation I find myself, that I was pregnant – I can
almost hear him boasting loudly and tap dancing with joy.
So, I found myself as a
single-mom to two kids for one week. It astounds me how any mother, single or
married, or even dating/divorcee, gets anything done. I am running on about eight
hours sleep since last week Friday, I have had one shirt destroyed to
tomato-sauce; accomplished only 10kms of running (dismal!); spent money so rapidly
on things such as washing powder and flip files; I have washed countless dishes
to the extent my hands are cracking; my nails are bitten to the quick; the kids
haven’t managed to eat one bowl of veggies; and we still have two Afrikaans
speeches to write. And that all happened after work...
It’s astounding how emotionally
available mothers are required to be, how confident they need to be as kids
speak honestly about the lumpy-parmesan-mash they refuse to eat after slaving
over it, the constant stress of if you’re late picking them up from school - someone
will take them, trusting them to wash behind their ears and not send rude
messages to their friends. You need more than monetary resources at your
fingertips, almost willing an extra hour out of the already 24 just so you can
have a bath.
There were amazing rewards after
all the hocus-pocus of stress and emotional instability on my part – I watched
the 10 year-old create a speech about superheroes, hitting the reader with the
age-old question: Are you a hero or a coward, your actions will decide? I got
to give the 13-year-old her prefect blazer – almost completely cracking on
stage refusing to allow her to grow up (I even assured her – and myself – that she
wouldn’t trip on stage).
It’s fun, and rewarding watching
these humans evolve and learn and possibly become great forces in this world –
it gets lost in the minute details that they haven’t done their chores, or
talk-back, or just don’t listen.
I walk away from this week with a
new understanding, respect and reverence for mothers; however this truly gives
me the power of certainty that I am far too selfish to have kids, now. Purely
because I don’t have the support emotionally from anyone – nor financially –
nor am I ready to abdicate time and energy to someone other than myself.
If I
am going to raise a child, I want to be the best version of myself when doing
it; every woman should get that option...