They don’t need me as they once did

Two little girls were playing with a stash of cupcake paper cases that they’d stolen out of the kitchen drawer. They’d opened it up and emptied its contents onto the garden furniture, undecided upon what game to play with this newfound toy. The one year old decides to crumple them up in her stronghold. The four year old despairs at the diminished stash. “Play nice. Figure out how to share them!” Mummy calls out from behind the kitchen counter, unwilling to play mediator this time around. Big sister asks for half the cases politely. The little one, half her size, yells and gestures her fist determinedly, ”No!” Mummy and Daddy exchanges glances stifling the giggles that are bubbling to the surface as the little sister exerts her position once more.

That was a peek into one of our many lazy Sunday afternoons recently. We are currently enjoying communicating with the girls. The little one has exploded with a flurry of vocabulary, suddenly able to name a range of objects around the house, animals and food (making it hard to discern if she’s practicing her vocab or ordering food not served for dinner every evening meal). The elder one astounds us with her acute and cynical perception of the world from announcing that the teachers are having a lazy afternoon when they put on a video documentary for the preschool class, to correcting daddy when he claims he has cooked the roast that mummy marinated and prepped ready for him to put into the barbie.

When Michele Obama finished their two terms at the White House, she reflected that,” I have two nearly grown daughters who needs me less than they once did.” Reading this sentence sent me bawling on the plane as it made me painfully aware of how fleeting our moments are. Of how my one year old only whines because she is now too tiny to be able to be as independent and helpful as she’d like to be( e.g helping mummy chop carrots with her Global knife). Or why my firstborn gets on the defensive because she is trying to hold on to the known and reluctant to become the next progressive being growing up requires her to be.

I lay in bed cosleeping with my daughters every night currently with their little warm bodies curled up against mine. My husband abhors it and wants me back with him but I secretly adore the stolen moments I get watching them breathe peacefully or holding their little hands in mine or smoothing their hair away from irritating their noses. Cleaning snot, smoothing ruffled duvets. All precious. Even more I love falling asleep with them. The songs and little games we share as we egg each other on some nights fighting sleep. My elder one saying a million goodnights in multiple languages actively procrastinating bedtime. The merry mornings when they greet my eye opening with cheeky grins and a bright,”Minion!” Before the one year old correcting herself to say Morning! Their little cuddles and kisses for me and for each other. Watching my older one assume my role in singing to and bouncing her almost two year old sister. So tiring, but so fulfilling at the same time.

There isn’t any further point to this post other than to recognise that I am struggling to juggle and treasure all the good opportunities I have been given currently. A fun family, a beautiful home, a rewardingly challenging career and some budding friendships socially. They are all good struggles and I don’t want to be an ingrate. I am happily exhausted. And will likely continue to be so as we keep on.




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