The thing I notice now that I’m ambulatory after the great ankle twist of Snow Day Number One-Too-Many is how afraid I feel of another ankle twist right now. I’m cautious on the ice. I feel… wary, worried. Old, I feel old—or at least a bit older than before this happened.
It’s bittersweet, awful and wonderful all at once. I don’t like to feel vulnerable (who does, really?). I do like, though, to be aware of the need to care for myself and to realize I can take care of myself. There’s some maturity in that. Plus, the fact that I’m up again is so utterly and completely fantastic I am able to appreciate mobility above the impulse to self-criticize (I’m slow and clumsy).
Amongst the things I got clear about this week is how detrimental it is to be so hard on myself. Redoubled efforts to see kindness beamed from me to me as an exercise in faith and growth and even better parenting. No matter how quietly I might beat myself up, the kids feel it. They are attuned. I got clearer about the need to tow the line, and remembered again how very much work it is to stay conscious.
Three links for you: In regards to staying conscious, how much to psy attention—or to ignore—has been a question I have regarding parenting and I wrote about it for Brain, Child on their blog.
More great news for The Good Mother Myth: this week, Time features excerpts from five essays on its site (there’s the first).
I’ll admit I read Kate Haas’ essay The Baby Corps with more than a smidge of envy. I don’t think my public declaration that I’d love my mother to join the Teenage Corps will entice her from her actual home. But if I thought it would work, I would so try.
