Day 1: Practice Tolerance and Acceptance

"Acceptance of one's life has nothing to do with resignation; it does not mean running away from the struggle. On the contrary, it means accepting it as it comes, with all the handicaps of heredity, of suffering, of psychological complexes and injustices." -- Paul Tournier

My Day 1 was almost an epic fail. Almost.

Being cooped up in the office all doesn't really do much to try one's patience. Talking to the computer might be weird, but at least it doesn't talk back and therefore doesn't annoy me enough for me to really need to draw on my meager reserves of that ever-elusive patience.

At home it was another story. Try putting a semi-nocturnal (guess where she got those genes), supercalifragilisticexpialidocious hyperactive one-year-old to sleep. I fell asleep first. She was playing beside me and didn't take heed of my, um, relative inattention. At first. And then she noticed and asked for milk (take note that she'd already had a bottle and a half by then) so I gave her the half-bottle left. She finished it in what seemed just mere moments and then asked for more. I gave her the pacifier but she wouldn't take it, asking for milk and then jumping up and down. Which is really not a good thing given how much milk she's just consumed. But of course, she wouldn't listen to me no matter how many times I tell her to stop jumping and lie down already. Pissed me off, and my voice was fast rising. So before I completely lose it, I told her I'm going to sleep and lay down facing away from her.

I wish she just went and lay down and followed me then, but of course she didn't. She started calling (and eventually wailing) "Mommy! Mommy! Mom-my! Mommmyyyy!!! MOOOOOOOMMMMMMMYYYYYYYYY!!!!!!!" but I still didn't face her. And then she sat down and started snapping my bra straps. It was then that I lost it and totally transformed into an all-out screaming Monster Mom. I'll spare you the sordid details but suffice it to say that I did not hurt her (physically anyway) but she got quiet finally and lay down. And that's when I came to my senses too.

And then I was like, whatever happened to practicing tolerance and acceptance? And here I was, screaming like a banshee at my daughter. At that moment, you could find a little picture of me right beside the word shame in the dictionary.

So the next moment found me cuddling my daughter, kissing her and murmuring that Mommy is sorry and loves her oh, so much. Kids being kids, it took her no time at all to hug me back and smile at me. I asked her if she still wanted her milk and when she nodded yes, I got up to fix her one more bottle of milk. I was no sooner out of the bed when she got up too, and stood peeking out the door at me while I fixed her milk bottle. But she lay back down when I returned with her milk bottle.

We were awake until past midnight playing and cuddling and having our kulitan moments. I took pictures of us and even a short video of her. I let her have her fun even though I was so sooo sleepy and have to work the next day.

And my realization for the day is... nothing really. At least nothing new. Before when I was still blissfully unaware and without a kid, I told myself I'll be that cool mom who never loses patience and tolerates all her kid's foibles and all. Whenever at the mall and I see a mom getting exasperated and treating her kid none too kindly nor lovingly, I would be all smug and like, I won't be like that when I become a mom myself. And now, here I find myself driven to occasional bouts of temporary insanity by my daughter's antics. I realize now that mothers are humans still at the core, and patience really is something that is worked at (especially with kids).

There may be more well-behaved, more timid and less willful kids who are easier to handle. Francine is gregarious, vivacious and curious as they come (maybe even more) but I wouldn't have her any other way. Her exuberant spirit is what makes her who she is, and if it overwhelms me at times, well, I'll just have to adapt. Because I'm her mother, and I want her to grow into her own knowing with certainty and clarity that no matter what I'll always love her for who and what she is. That it's okay to make mistakes sometimes, so long as she learns from it and moves on. I will guide her, but not impose on her decisions (yes, at 1.58 years of age she is already very adept with the concept of free will) unless absolutely necessary like in matters of her safety, etc.

So yeah, I think I may still have a shot at being that cool mom yet.