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As I was trying to do my business, I shared the deed with two sets of beady eyes staring at me. The dog had a desperate confused look on her face, brought on only by the ravages of glaucoma -- pale blue, glossy eyes staring at me, so haunted ... probably because she had banana mushed in her fur and had just had her ears pulled back giving her the look of a patient on botox. The other set of eyes belonged to my lovely child -- sparkling and so alive ... so curious about the patch of black hair that mommy has under her pants. So amused that when she attempts to pull that same patch of hair, her mommy screams in sheer agony. Alas, Sophie finds that to be uproariously hilarious and attempts to undertake an encore poke and pull. I finally finish the task at hand, while explaining that toilet paper is meant to wipe or clean oneself, not to be put in the mouth or shoved in the dog's mouth. I wash my hands with said child in my arms, who tries to eat the soap. I leave the bathroom to the sounds of the dog, drinking from the toilet. And I repeat out loud, this is my life ...
I know all the lyrics to every Raffi and Sharon, Lois, and Bram song there ever was. I break out into song at the oddest times -- in the store, in line at the bank, at the park, and yes, even in the bathroom. I know how to get mushed banana and ground up cheerios out of any surface and I can remove any type of stain, including carrot and playdough. I live in my pajamas and my idea of personal hygiene is getting my teeth brushed and face washed at least once per day. I talk in two sentence phrases, most of which are prefaced with such high pitched terms of endearment as sweetheart, honey, and lovey. I eat standing up and I supplement my diet with cheerios. I am no longer disgusted by such things as mucous, poop, or spit up, provided that it comes from my own child, or dog. I make puppets talk in all sorts of hilarious voices and I can bust many a move with a 24-pound toddler attached to my hip. My bed sleeps three and I am an all night buffet -- I often wake up half-naked in a different bed than the one I started the night in, with said toddler attached to my breast. I nurse no matter where we are day or night and I walk around with teeth marks on my breasts. In fact, I am nursing as I write this.
I am an expert negotiator -- particularly when it comes to providing discipline. In our home, discipline is a four-letter word, one that spells love. It comes out of a foundation of respect and empathy, where Sophie is an equal and honoured member of the family unit.
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While I admit that I am not a perfect parent, I am a 'real' parent. Yes, there are times when I am so angry that I could scream. And, I do; however, not in front of my daughter. I strive hard to teach Sophie that her feelings are real and right, because they are her own. She is given free reign to explore her emotions, provided that she respects the people within her environment. Some might think that I am expecting too much of my 23-month old. I disagree. By embracing her natural curiosity and inborn intelligence, I have been able to teach her relaxation strategies (taking three deep breaths) when she is frustrated. In addition, we have a set area in the house where she can go to regain her composure if she feels out of sync, which we call her 'calm place'. She can sit in this spot on her own if she chooses, or with her daddy or myself and read, nurse, cuddle, laugh, or cry. But, most importantly, it is a place of safety and nurturing.
I attempt to turn times where my guidance and redirection are required into opportunities for teaching. If Sophie has behaved in a way that violates our house rules, I speak to her about it and encourage her to come up with alternative solutions to the problem. At this point in her life, I am usually the one to come up with the majority of the solutions, but I attempt to make them fair and developmentally appropriate. Once we have made a decision, I insist on a practice attempt of the new solution in the moment. She tries it out and presto ... there is a chance for me to provide instant positive reinforcement. There are kisses and hugs all around! And Sophie doesn't forget ... she takes her new skills into the next situation.
This is the story of my life ...
Why do I do this? For the love of Sophie is why -- for the warm breath on my face when I sleep that smells so sweet and good. For the wet open-mouthed baby kisses she gives and for the smile that lights up her face when she sees me. For the love of my husband, who has given me this joyous babe. For her funny laugh, curious nature, and zest for life. For her presence in my life, which grounds me and has made me a better person. For the sheer ecstasy she has brought to not only our lives, but also to those around us. She has taught us to be real rather than perfect, which as far as I am concerned, is the most important lesson of all.
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