A lot of people seem to complain about how difficult parenting becomes when their children turn two and start throwing tantrums/crying for no reason/insisting on wearing their tutus and nothing else to the shops/shouting out "Jojo made a big pooh" randomly in public. To these glass-half-empties, I say - tosh! Raising a toddler is an amazing opportunity for self-development, saving you thousands on therapist's fees and gym membership whilst helping to hone your mental acuity.
Let me demonstrate:
1) The only way you could be more trim is if you had Tim Noakes living in your kitchen. It's my theory that Usain Bolt trained for his 100m sprint by taking a toddler to a shopping centre. Anyone who has tried to keep up with one of these little fellas as they go blitzing through stores will attest to the intense workout it is; plus, there are the heart-pumping benefits of your windmilling arms as you try to put back the items they have randomly tossed from the shelves. So that's your cardio sorted. As for toning your core, arms and thighs: I could be wrong, but a two-year old screeching "pick me up" fifty times a day will do far more for you than any bootcamp instructor.
2) They give you a reality check. I confess; going to work makes me feel really glamorous. It's probably the lack of child-minders and people under four foot that does it, but whenever I'm putting on my makeup and wearing clothes that are free of food crust and smudges left by pummelling dirty little feet, I feel quite pretty. Thankfully, I have Leya to put me in my place. "Hello, Big Bum," she will boom cheerfully. Or, "Mommy, your boobs are parachutes" (I know my body isn't what it used to be, but I hadn't realised things had gotten so bad that even a toddler could recognise my submission to gravity).
3) They build your resilience. When you are waiting in the doctor's rooms and your child shouts out "I hate Dr Jackie because she's dirty", you realise that the only thing to do is smile.
4) They teach you the importance of an enquiring mind, rational thinking and creativity. I have one word for you: "Why?" It seems that toddlers have one word also. And finding answers for it can be difficult. Like: Leya: What is that?
Me: That's your daddy.
Leya: Why?
Me: Because I liked his green eyes? Because when we were lovestruck youngsters we used to stay up all night to watch the moon travel across the sky? Because no one else makes me laugh as much? Because he was the only guy to ask me out that year?
4) They teach you the art of zen. Let me relate one of me and Leya's more intellectual conversations from the other day.
Me (at the robot, explaining why we can't go just yet): "Green means go, yellow means slow and red means stop."
Leya: "Again."
Me (at the robot, explaining why we can't go just yet): "Green means go, yellow means slow and red means stop."
Leya: "Again."
Me (at the robot, explaining why we can't go just yet): "Green means go, yellow means slow and red means stop."
Leya: "Again."
Me (at the robot, explaining why we can't go just yet): "Green means go, yellow means slow and red means stop."
Leya: "Again."
Me (at the robot, explaining why we can't go just yet): "Green means go, yellow means slow and red means stop."
Leya: "Again."
This went on for a good couple of minutes, before we started discussing the finer points of dinosaurs. And then, to my horror, we drew up at another robot and it started all over again. There is no way you can survive this kind of discourse with your faculties intact unless you are able to retreat into a meditative state. Kind of like when you're doing Ashtanga yoga, and you know the moves so well you're able to drift off while your body does its own thing.
5) They give you an ego boost... There's nothing quite like the happy smugness of being Favourite Parent. My heart trills when Leya tells James that he's not able to dress her/make her tea/come into her bedroom because only her mommy is allowed. In one particularly nasty case of schadenfreude, I laughed for days when he tried to snuggle with her and she told him she didn't like to because "it's stinky". In more enlightened moments I realise she's selected me to be her personal moments, but the Pollyanna side of me thinks its because she loves me more.
6) ...But never let you get too big for your boots. Sadly, the shining glory of being Favourite Parent for a Moment is always diminished by the knowledge that Leya's nanny, Nomonde, is Favourite Person In the Whole Wide Universe, Including Galaxies Still To Be Discovered, For All Eternity And Even After That. I know this because of little reminders like the following:
Me: "Are you my special darling?"
Leya: "No. I'. Nommy's baby."
This doesn't seem fair. After all, Nomonde didn't put on 30kg to bring Leya into the world, nor does she have chips in her wall from when she threw every single one of her shoes in a fit of insane pregnant rage; nor does she get woken up by 5cm fingers prising her eyelids apart. But there, again, is one of the special life lessons that toddlers have for us: life isn't always fair.
7) They can make you feel really, really good about yourself. The other day, Leya asked me to fix her bottle. I jiggled around with it, handed it back, and when she found it working once more to her satisfaction she turned to me and said, "Thank you mommy! Good boy." I have never felt so proud.
Let me demonstrate:
1) The only way you could be more trim is if you had Tim Noakes living in your kitchen. It's my theory that Usain Bolt trained for his 100m sprint by taking a toddler to a shopping centre. Anyone who has tried to keep up with one of these little fellas as they go blitzing through stores will attest to the intense workout it is; plus, there are the heart-pumping benefits of your windmilling arms as you try to put back the items they have randomly tossed from the shelves. So that's your cardio sorted. As for toning your core, arms and thighs: I could be wrong, but a two-year old screeching "pick me up" fifty times a day will do far more for you than any bootcamp instructor.
2) They give you a reality check. I confess; going to work makes me feel really glamorous. It's probably the lack of child-minders and people under four foot that does it, but whenever I'm putting on my makeup and wearing clothes that are free of food crust and smudges left by pummelling dirty little feet, I feel quite pretty. Thankfully, I have Leya to put me in my place. "Hello, Big Bum," she will boom cheerfully. Or, "Mommy, your boobs are parachutes" (I know my body isn't what it used to be, but I hadn't realised things had gotten so bad that even a toddler could recognise my submission to gravity).
3) They build your resilience. When you are waiting in the doctor's rooms and your child shouts out "I hate Dr Jackie because she's dirty", you realise that the only thing to do is smile.
4) They teach you the importance of an enquiring mind, rational thinking and creativity. I have one word for you: "Why?" It seems that toddlers have one word also. And finding answers for it can be difficult. Like: Leya: What is that?
Me: That's your daddy.
Leya: Why?
Me: Because I liked his green eyes? Because when we were lovestruck youngsters we used to stay up all night to watch the moon travel across the sky? Because no one else makes me laugh as much? Because he was the only guy to ask me out that year?
4) They teach you the art of zen. Let me relate one of me and Leya's more intellectual conversations from the other day.
Me (at the robot, explaining why we can't go just yet): "Green means go, yellow means slow and red means stop."
Leya: "Again."
Me (at the robot, explaining why we can't go just yet): "Green means go, yellow means slow and red means stop."
Leya: "Again."
Me (at the robot, explaining why we can't go just yet): "Green means go, yellow means slow and red means stop."
Leya: "Again."
Me (at the robot, explaining why we can't go just yet): "Green means go, yellow means slow and red means stop."
Leya: "Again."
Me (at the robot, explaining why we can't go just yet): "Green means go, yellow means slow and red means stop."
Leya: "Again."
This went on for a good couple of minutes, before we started discussing the finer points of dinosaurs. And then, to my horror, we drew up at another robot and it started all over again. There is no way you can survive this kind of discourse with your faculties intact unless you are able to retreat into a meditative state. Kind of like when you're doing Ashtanga yoga, and you know the moves so well you're able to drift off while your body does its own thing.
5) They give you an ego boost... There's nothing quite like the happy smugness of being Favourite Parent. My heart trills when Leya tells James that he's not able to dress her/make her tea/come into her bedroom because only her mommy is allowed. In one particularly nasty case of schadenfreude, I laughed for days when he tried to snuggle with her and she told him she didn't like to because "it's stinky". In more enlightened moments I realise she's selected me to be her personal moments, but the Pollyanna side of me thinks its because she loves me more.
6) ...But never let you get too big for your boots. Sadly, the shining glory of being Favourite Parent for a Moment is always diminished by the knowledge that Leya's nanny, Nomonde, is Favourite Person In the Whole Wide Universe, Including Galaxies Still To Be Discovered, For All Eternity And Even After That. I know this because of little reminders like the following:
Me: "Are you my special darling?"
Leya: "No. I'. Nommy's baby."
This doesn't seem fair. After all, Nomonde didn't put on 30kg to bring Leya into the world, nor does she have chips in her wall from when she threw every single one of her shoes in a fit of insane pregnant rage; nor does she get woken up by 5cm fingers prising her eyelids apart. But there, again, is one of the special life lessons that toddlers have for us: life isn't always fair.
7) They can make you feel really, really good about yourself. The other day, Leya asked me to fix her bottle. I jiggled around with it, handed it back, and when she found it working once more to her satisfaction she turned to me and said, "Thank you mommy! Good boy." I have never felt so proud.
A lovely piece. I identify with the repetition. Mine however has to do with the man who built our house and the questions always start: Mom, did Mr Todd ...
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