Being a mother is exhilarating and exhausting if we dont also add emotionally daunting to the mix already and then it becomes equally excruciating. Enough with the e’s already you say. Well its the sleep deprivation that causes alcohol inducing traits in most of us and then the tolerance levels of painful people hits an all time low. The seriousness of life, the responsibility of raising a child, the society building careers of childcare are then put forth to the naive mother from all and sundry. You cannot even shop for clothes without imagining in your head how cumbersome or not the dress would be while holding your little precious. The monsters make your life hell and then the mother starts questioning her own ability to function in her life let alone influence a little tucker. All the best laid plans are distraught with ill-informed aunts saying, oh she can do more or faraway relatives proclaiming how they built the taj mahal with an infant on their back. The seeming endless throes of judgement are so ridiculously sticky that one with the proverbial sensitive skin will dive promptly into a rather large can of gooey cookies and come out with all kinds of skin issues if not for the bulge. The acne, the inflammations then start a very vicious cycle involving all the brownies and the best bakeries in town. Phew what a mess. Poor woman I want to tell the poor me who laps up all the judgement and drowns myself in chocolate from the nether world. People are good or people are bad but mostly people are opinions, which absolutely shouldn’t matter be they good or bad. For I may not build the Taj Mahal much as I want, or I may not run a sprawling 10-acre house much as I need but I run my head and definitely the future of mine depending on how much of the blistering, boisterous advice I let seep into my skin. The political drama nevertheless.
So after being down in the dumps letting in all the judgemental frowns enter my airspace and headspace I made space stumbling quite randomly on this thing called play.
As I netted and replayed another harrowing conversation in my head I found my little pie pull at the ends of my dress. Finally at an age to be able to communicate through sigh and sign language he pulled me to his box of toys. And then we played. What a riot it was. Though I would constantly take him to play dates and swimming trips, looked up recipes and forayed into the kitchen, make healthy rules hoping they would instill healthy habits, create fun art time, buy lots of toys and clothes, learn and sing new rhymes every week I simply forgot to be me and play with no rhyme or reason. While I religiously clean and fed my munchkin I forgot about playing with him. And children are adept at this thing called play. So thrilled to have his Mommy around to play with him he was cackling away to glory. The laughs produced, the fun in running around pointless circles, the camaraderie generated was epic. If not for anything it reminded me of my school days frolicking about in the sun with my best friends. Afternoons spent hunting for treasures, painting, doing craft or evenings spent cycling around the neighbourhood with my brother for no rhyme or reason. Those were the extraordinary carefree days where doing nothing was not an option. We always did something and most of it led to nothing. In short we played. The opinions of others didn’t really matter. SO much so that parents-teachers meetings where the teachers complained that she talks too much didn’t get to my head. Or standing outside class for talking didn’t get to my heart. We still marched to our own drums even if the drums were frayed. Cause all in all we had this thing called play. As my brilliant son (am allowed to think so) did downward dogs, ate his toes, rolled on his tummy and played catch he drew me immediately into that beautiful thing called play. Something that I stopped doing as I was listening to the loudest instead of the soft voice of my conscience and the humble beating of my own heart. This isn’t a lifestyle post or a rant, it’s just me doing a facepalm and saying, ‘Oh thats all it takes to melt the innocuous world away!’ a little bit or more of Play!
Of course lego, sundials, abaci, music, paint, brushes, craft, ocarinas, drums, stuffed dolls, balls, paper, water, buckets, bats, bricks, mats, arrows, trucks, cars, buses, pencils, aeroplanes or companions in small scales help too!
p.s. though this could be for anyone this post is mainly for mothers who are so caught up in the rigmarole of childcare and lousy peoples opinions and barking instructions that they forget the basic premise of childhood – a thing called play!
translates from Hindi as – ‘to each his own preference, just, everyone should know how to be happy <hugs>