I mostly spend each day living in brief gulps from one moment to the next. In between tickle fights and time outs, I also sweat it out each day on the tightrope that is PPD and all its repercussions in my family, my health, my marriage and my sense of humor. Some days are good, some days only wish they could aspire to the high ranks of pond scum, but it's all part of my life. And it's all worth it.
I will remember you
As far as early memories go, I’m not one to dig deep. There are some foggy images of snow-covered yards and brightly colored shoes. (yes, shoes. I have a distinct memory of looking at all my shoes lined up. Perhaps this is why Payless sets me all a-twitter.) I can still taste the butterscotch hard candy my grandmother handed me when my brother and I first moved to El Paso. I was about 4. Other than that, things are pleasantly misty, just a mishmash of images, sounds, feelings.
Then, smack dab in the middle of all that fuzziness, comes a real rock-solid memory. I am sitting in our kitchen and it’s raining. HARD. The light coming through the windows can’t even really be called that, it’s more just a bare step up from gray dawn. It feels cold. My mom is off to my right somewhere, probably getting cereal. It is my 5th birthday.
I am crying. Bawling. Having a big ol’ fashioned screaming, messy fit. ” I. WANT. TO. GO. TO. THE. ZOOOOOO!”. I even remember my mom muttering something like, “It’s not like I made it rain, I can’t control the weather, how is it my fault it’s raining?”.
I am a mother now myself and my oldest daughter just turned 5. Thinking back to my own tempest that day, I felt this persistent urge to make sure Anna’s fifth birthday would not involve hysterics before 8 A.M. Because yesterday it really struck me– she’s going to REMEMBER THIS STUFF. Anna’s past the blurry fuzziness of her early years. Now, what I do, what I say, how I react to her in whatever situation, it’s all going down in her log for later reference. (You know, for her therapist.)
To say I had a moment of utter panic does not cut it. I got up at 5 yesterday morning and for about 20 seconds as the realization hit me I just couldn’t breathe. uh-oh. UH-OH. The way I slammed the door getting her into the car last week, screaming at her to stop screaming at her sister and use a nice voice, putting her in time-out because “you are just getting my nerves, that’s two minutes on the timer”. A picture of a mother as seen through her velvet brown all-seeing eyes formed before me and I just stopped functioning.
But then, the air returned. Because I knew, in that instant, that I am a good mom. I’m not perfect. I yell, hell yes. But I don’t ALWAYS yell. I lose my temper to the point of making no sense, but not every time. For all the times I say, “No, I can’t do a craft, I don’t like crafts, can’t you just color by yourself?” there are an equal number of times that I sit and read stories by request for hours.
When Anna came down for breakfast the morning of her fifth birthday, there was a donut at her seat with a candle in it. We walked her over and sang Happy Birthday and clapped when she made her wish. Maybe she’ll remember that, I don’t know. Maybe she’ll just remember me saying to her in my No Nonsense Voice about 2 hours later, “It may be your birthday, young lady, but that doesn’t mean I won’t put you in time out until the sun sets, you understand me?”.
I don’t know if her version of events will blame me for the rain.
I can’t choose what will stand out in her swirl of moments, images and feelings over time. But I know, at least for just this one moment in my head, I am a good mom. Hopefully, in the general mix all her memories to come, that will come through– ideally, right after the part where puberty lets loose its violent hold over her cerebral cortex.
yo’ mamma hates to correct you, but it was your THIRD birthday when the “zoo incident” occured, and thus your darling daughter prolly ALREADY has memories that will last a lifetime. But you know, despite all those memories, you will still love each other.
Comment by GrandMem — November 9, 2009 @ 9:19 amyou know, after I wrote that, I started adding things up and realized I must have been 3, otherwise I would have had the 5th birthday in El Paso. Hmm… still. Perhaps I was trying to buy myself a longer reprieve? :) All she reminds me about these days is that time when she was TWO and I forgot to buckle her car seat and she fell out. She tells everyone that, can’t wait to hear what she tells when she’s 13.
Comment by Megan — November 9, 2009 @ 9:29 amI, too, have children with elephant memories and they still remind me of “mistakes” I’ve made over the years. I also am blessed (or cursed, depending on how you look at it) with a pretty vivid memory of my childhood and can remember that on my 4th birthday, my dad actually had to stop the car to spank me on the way to the amusement park. I don’t look back on that now and hate my dad, I look back and think, wow, I was acting like a real brat!
Comment by Hillary — November 13, 2009 @ 1:22 pmMegan,
You are an incredible writer. Please, please, please pull something together to submit to get born.
Beautifully articulated–I love how you weave in the “good enough” to the need for us all to keep a sense of humor.
Also, the last sentence was sheer genius.
Comment by Heather — November 16, 2009 @ 5:18 pmthanks, Heather! I’m working on it, actually, funny you should mention it. :) Should have something to send next week!
Comment by Megan — November 16, 2009 @ 5:24 pmWould be great to see you in ‘get born’!
Comment by Dani — December 6, 2009 @ 8:12 pmAlso, I figured I had to quit the sailor-talk when the kids were 3…not only did they start mimicking me, but their memories started cementing.
Of course, ‘wanting’ to quit hollering and cursing is actually separate and distinct from ‘actually’ quitting hollering and cursing.