The Cerebral Mum

k,l.;oppppcccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccc vvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvcvvvvvvvvv////////////////..,…………,ffrf fb nbn mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmhjjjsfb nmkjkjjmjnnbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbrrggbfv cc c bgvgbv b bbjikjnjnh bbv vc-[lol”p-wdcvbnmk.;/.lff vvvvvvvvvvvvv.

mkjjyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyjnkk,,m,,,,,,,,,,,,,.,,,,79innbvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvn m hhhhhhhj

I think Caspar must be having a growth spurt. It’s only 1:14pm and he’s already gone done for his second nap. In spite of it looking like her would be done to just one nap a day soon, it’s now gone back up to 3. Or perhaps I’m just not as “present” for him and he’s bored and having no fun. I don’t think that’s it though. I think that really would be a self-pitying, un-motherlike thought.

Well, maybe not un-motherlike. Mothers worry. Mothers try to do what’s best and there is never a real answer to that. I think we’re fine, though. I know I don’t have the energy and zest that I would like, and if that was going to be some lifetime thing I think that would upset me. But I don’t think that it is a lifetime thing. I don’t I am scarring him for life because I am sad right now. And I do my best to keep our days busy for him. Or busy enough. I still enjoy him. He still makes my heart light up. Right now, the light is a little dim, but it is a light nonetheless. So it’s okay.

He probably has become a little more demanding than usual in the last few days, which is evidence that he is very aware that I am not as focussed as usual, but he is such an easy, placid boy that it is not unbearable. It is not making me feel more stressed or pressured or overwhelmed. It is not making me feel like a failure. And that’s good.

Really, it’s just a reminder when I drift into my head to snap out of it, to be in the day as best I can. Knowing that there are many mothers out there suffering depression whose depression is tied up with their young children, I think that I am fortunate that mine is not. At some stage, I guess, I will have to consider how becoming a mother has effected me, my psyche, because I need to question everything I think I know. My thinking has become rigid. I think I have less capacity for empathy at the moment. I think I have become judgemental.

But when I do examine it, although I think I will still feel as i do now, that our relationship is an easy one, that he is a wonderful human being, and that I am a good mother for him. That I have the resources to make good choices, that I have the capacity to love him as needs to be loved. That it is easy to love him. I do not have the same expectations of perfection for my child or for me as a mother that I seem to have for myself alone, or for other people. Those expectations for “them” - that nebulous, imaginary “them” - need to go.

I think that when I speak about the world and social issues I am careful with my words. I don’t make accusations or use ad hominums to bolster my opinion. But I think that somewhere in me there is some sense of self-righteousness that takes away the good part of doing that.

And now it is 1:42pm. And he’s is crying to get up. Just a little nap. So off I go to be in his day.

After spending hours last night on a post I decided not to publish, I have decided to take one whole week off. I’ll still check in and reply to comments, and I’ll still be doing lots of reading and commenting on other blogs.

I just have a lot to juggle at the moment and I need lists and plans and a little bit of order if I am to manage it all. And lists and plans take time too.

The charity I mentioned earlier is kicking into gear and I will post a link and information when the website is ready to go. It is still a while off, however, as it involves a little global co-ordination.

The resource blog I will be starting has received no attention as yet, so I will be dedicating some time to that this week, planning content and schedules and layouts although I will need a little money to do the set up properly, so it may not launch until next year. The content is not time sensitive, however, so I can do as much writing and building as I like before it goes live. I know I’m being coy about the idea, but ideas are valuable!

I also have an update about Hughie, before I go. We really had no expectation that he would be alive today. The doctors made sure we had no expectation of that. Against all odds however, he’s still here and his condition is improving. He is no longer on full life support and he is slowly being weaned off the ventilator. When he saw him yesterday, he was conscious but severely jaundiced and groggy and unable to communicate in anyway. Today, when his daughter visited, he squeezed her hand very hard and cried. If he continues to improve, he may be out of the ICU in three days. What the long term prognosis is, we don’t know, but any extra days or weeks or months… well, they’re good.

Caspar continues to amaze me every day. He will sit for half an hour at his table scribbling, turning the pages of his drawing pad, comparing his crayons. This is above the level of concentration I was expecting him to have at 12 months. He is saying mum-mum a little, and experimenting with the various meanings of Ta (which he pronounces Dah). Considering his hearing impairment up until the age of 9 months, the lack of muscular development for speech and the scar tissue on his palate I am more than happy with this.

Also, as much as he loves books, his taste is impeccable. He loves those that have been well written, with rhythm and sounds an adult can admire, and those with high quality illustrations. He has no patience for the cheap and nasty, pulp baby stuff. I am not projecting. If I pick up an “average” book, he will replace it with a better one. If I insist on reading it, he wanders off.

He seems to be picking up the meaning of words at an almost alarming rate. After only hearing, and being shown, Put it back, twice, he can follow that instruction. He even closes the cupboard door afterwards. Rather than being a pushy mother, I think that I need to up-the-anti somewhat on providing him with things to learn. Growing minds must be fed. He’s already trying to sweep with an adult size broom. Surely, I can think of some more useful skills to teach him than that!

And did you know that you could actually play soccer with one year olds?

But I shall return to enumerate the wonders of Cas in a week.

Until then…

So now, after writing about my neurotic lack of coping with the first birthday party, I should probably record here what the party was actually like.

It was held here at Big Sis’ house in the front yard and there was no need to worry about rain. The weather caused a me a little concern, though. 33° (92° fahrenheit) is way above the average for October and raised the spectre of last year’s bushfire season, which burned out 1.1 million hectares. Later, watching California burn, I couldn’t help but think of the continuing drought and what may come with the summer.

After collapsing into bed the night before without finishing all my preparations, there was a lot to do in the morning but between Big Sis, B and I, nearly everything was done on time and Caspar was kept amused outside by B’s twins and the Jolly Jumper Big Sis and B had bought him for his birthday. The kids were impatient for the party to start and I locked them out of the house while I decorated the cake I shouldn’t have put off making to the day of the party.

When P (the other half of The Odd Couple in the house behind us) arrived with his two girls, we fired up the BBQ straight away although nobody else was here yet. The kids had been patient and were hungry. I had taken the little red table I bought secondhand as part of Caspar’s birthday gift of crayons and drawing pads outside and all the children sat around him there, fussing over him and playing with his hair, as girls are wont to do.

Caspar, like the far-too-advanced boy he is, sat on his yellow chair and fed himself, not at all bemused by the female attention. He has become accustomed to it. Indeed, I think he expects it. Not long after that a couple of my friends arrived and took a seat in our circle of big-people chairs. I, of course, flapped around a little trying to make sure everyone had something to eat and drink, not quite relaxed yet.

One thing I have been consistently amazed by since becoming a mother is how many hands and eyes are there to divert and watch over Caspar while I try to get things done. This assistance seems to be instinctual on the part of parents and non-parents alike and it is carried out so graciously that there is no need for words. I read so often of mothers, especially single mothers, overwhelmed by their parenthood so I must believe myself fortunate in this respect but I can’t help thinking that this is the way it should be. I do not think the days of community in childrearing are dead and gone.

So I had a chance to sit and talk and eat while Caspar belonged to everybody.

And then, of course, the cake. With the wind, it was impossible to keep the lone candle lit but it didn’t matter. Caspar would not have been able to blow it out anyway. He could, however, recognise that the slightly sad looking giraffe with its bright yellow icing was something good to eat and we had to move it away to be dished out as he tried to grab the whole lot of it for himself.

Not long after that, the children went home and Caspar went down for a nap, pink in spite of slathers of sunscreen and warm in just his nappie and a singlet. My friends and I cleared away the dishes outside and sat in the lounge talking over a glass of wine. Later, K, the friend that I had lost, arrived and I woke Cas from his sleep so they could meet each other. A bit bleary eyed and wobbly, it didn’t take him long to start turning on his charm and show off all his skills, running around, waving, clapping his hands and putting his hands on his head. And my favourite… Dancing. He’s been head-banging since before he could sit up, and his repertoire of moves just keeps growing. He can move up and down, shift his weigh from foot to foot as he sways, stomp, writhe and spin around in circles. He’s got rhythm and whenever he hears music, he starts rocking.

And then of course, the afternoon grew late and it was time for people to leave but it was lovely having that quiet time with my three friends, and Caspar loved having all the company. There were no tears and no stress on his part.

We had a quiet evening, B cooking up the last of the meat on the BBQ and Big Sis and Cas and I eating with him at the table in the garage as the sun went down and the air cooled. Caspar sat at the big table with us, for the first time in the portable booster seat which was my first birthday present from Big Sis and B.

I tasted the cake then, a recipe I hadn’t used before but I had been assured by the party guests that it was good. I wasn’t too impressed with the giraffe I had made, but for a first effort, without any guiding instructions, it was good enough. I’m sure the cakes I make will get fancier as the years go by. Until the day Caspar tells me to stop making him such silly things. One day he will be protective of his young man’s dignity.

The cake was good! I mean, really good! And so easy. I used a simple tea cake recipe (3 quantities) and blended it in the food processor. It only took 5 minutes. Try it at home and just brush it with some butter then sprinkle on a layer of cinnamon or coffee sugar. Because, really, virulent yellow icing is not that appealing to adults.

Tea Cake

60g butter
1 tsp vanilla essence
1/2 cup castor sugar
1 egg
1 cup self raising flour
1/3 cup milk

Cream butter and essence. Add sugar, then egg, and mix until creamy. Add flour and milk and mix until smooth. Bake in a moderate oven for 25 minutes.

He turned 1 today! See his year in pictures, from his first moments on earth to today. I’m sure you’ll agree that he is perfect.

View gallery…

I knew it was coming. There were some valiant attempts earlier in the week. A white knuckled grip, a face mashed into the the upholstery, one knee high up against his side and one foot almost lifting off the ground. And two days ago he made it.

Yes, Caspar can now climb up onto the sofa. I’m impressed. I’m proud. I’m thrilled. But I’m also horrified. The logistics of the descent still seem a long way off. He thinks a head-first dive-bomb is the way to go and I can no longer leave the living room, even momentarily, while he is in it. Who will be there to catch him?

After a morning spent at the house I am selling, dragging old furniture and a pond and a pool table out to the nature strip for the annual hard rubbish collection, I actually spent some of my afternoon on the couch watching TV. Caspar is very good at entertaining himself. He likes patrolling the house, inspecting the floorboards, opening and closing doors and poking at whatever he discovers along the way. But he also likes his Mummy & Me time. And that means books.

So there I was, watching episode 3 of Grey’s Anatomy’s 4th season in a fairly half-assed way, perking up a little when Really Old Guy… No, better not mention that. It hasn’t aired here yet. Anyway, there I was on the sofa when Caspar came over and handed me one of his favourite books before clawing his way up and snuggling in to just the right spot for me to read to him. Needless to say, I turned the television off.

Let’s just dwell on that image for a minute, before I go on with my story. I can’t remember exactly when he started snuggling in by himself for story time, coming over with book in hand and sitting himself down on my knee whenever I was cross-legged on the floor but it still moves me each time. It is probably the clearest communication I have from him.

(When he shakes his head, no, he won’t hit me any more, does he really know what he is agreeing to? When he nods, yes, he’s finished his dinner, does he really understand what it means? Actually, I’m, pretty sure he has that one figured out. When I asked yesterday he had hardly eaten a thing but I let him down anyway so that he would learn. He promptly picked up his dinner so that he could continue eating while toddling off to say hello to Big Sis. Finished obviously means Get free. I think I got played.)

But I don’t think it’s the clear communication that puts butterflies in my stomach and a lump in my throat when he comes and claims his space, even though that is something to be proud of. It’s not even that he loves reading so much. I think it is the trust expressed - his trust in me, in my attention, in his place in my world - which is so very beautiful that it almost moves me to tears. I think it is in moments like these that you know you are doing a good job of being a mother.

But, being a mother, Caspar’s choice of a more elevated book time (elevated to sofa level) today seemed like a good opportunity to provide some instruction. Like any addict bookworm, one is never enough for him and his usual method of obtaining another fix more books when we are on the couch is to lunge over the edge to reach the bookshelf which doubles as a side table while I grab at his ankles like a bungee cord, trying to avert possible brain damage. Today, with a lot of patience on my part and very little on his, we did a some manoeuvring between stories to show him how to go down backwards. I’m not sure the message sank in though.

He’s right, after all: Head first is quicker.

Yes. He’s turning one. It’s wonderful. And it’s too fast.

A party date is set. The 21st. I’ve let people know but it’s time to get those invitations out. I ditched my picnic idea - it is too inconvenient to get us to a location convenient for everyone else. If only a few people come, well, that’s a bit depressing but it is the way things are until we move.

So a yard and a barbeque and a birthday cake. Home made, of course. And no balloons. Caspar is terrified of balloons. It is the first thing he has ever really been afraid of. He cries and clings and buries his head on my shoulder briefly before turning back to make sure that round and colourful air monster isn’t coming for him.

So definitely no balloons.

I bought some invitations yesterday and some 90 cent crayons as his present. Today I’m off to get some nice paper to print off as Wishes to send along with the invitations so that everyone who can’t make it can fill them out and send a birthday message for him. I’m hoping that I will also find a secondhand, Caspar-height table for him to sit and scribble at and I will get some colouring paper. After that, and the beer and the meat, all the preparations are done. It’s not the best party I have ever planned (And a generic invitation pad? Who does that?) but it will do.

So now I just have to deal with the fact that this first year almost over. Just the other day when I dressed him, I thought I’d try on one of the oversized polo shirts that my Mum had bought for him in July. Contrary to my expectation, it fit perfectly. It almost made me cry. Some of the welling tears were of pride. (Pride that he is growing? Does that count as an achievement? Well, yes. When you’re a mother.) The rest of the tears were for being forced to acknowledge that there is not a lot of baby left in him.

I remember when he was a baby and I went to the the supermarket and placed him in the infant seat as I usually did. Looking at him there and trying to do the straps up, I realised he was far too big to be in the infant seat any more and was ready for a real trolley. But I felt so silly for not realising this that I left him there and did my shopping with some chagrin. And it was just the other day that I realised I no longer have to carry him from the car to the house and then go back for my shopping bags.

He can walk, stoopid!

I can carry my bags and he can hold my finger and we can walk into the house together. Change just happens in the blink of an eye. Sometimes it takes me a while to catch up.

So on his first birthday he will wear his big clothes, feed himself cake, put his hands on his head, clap, dance, say dah-gah, play catch, lead everyone else around by the hand and tear the paper off his presents himself. As he should.

It freaks me out and bring tears to my eyes.

And that is how it should be as well.