This was the thought that arrived on a cloudy Saturday morning while my family and I were still huddled in bed. This is the hard truth of motherhood - motherhood in migration.
I was of course being reflective of the events of the precious evening when Mandarin blatantly reminded me of my place
1. What was I even thinking bringing a toddler to a restaurant catering all-you-can-drink sake bombs to twenty-somethings who barely understand the meaning of pacing your drinks. This was irresponsible on my end; hunger, the lure of Japanese Shabu-Shabu, and admittedly just to be out with (pretty much) everyone got the best of me. Had I known it was as bad as it was going to be, I wouldn't have even considered taking her there.
2. When going to the said place, given a very late reservation of 9:00pm means you will be seated at 9:45 and start eating a little past 10:00.
3. Toddler bedtime + short afternoon nap + belligerent and drunken crowd noise = mommy and me meltdown. The best thing to do was to leave, mid-meal before the next round of paper thin slices of beef even had the chance to cook because my instinctive solution was to remove her from that environment.
While I can easily say that all mothers out there completely understand this scenario, the hard truth that immediately commanded my attention was that - while all possible mothers there had someone to leave their children with, I on the other hand, did not.
I've heard several opinions about this and it's easy for someone who has a parent or grandparent or a sibling to leave their child with at a wink's notice to say that they should learn how to cope with their environment. Knowing what I know about my child; that she is very much opinionated, knows what she wants and is capable of traumatizing an adult in the manner in which she cries, that she can set off mass chaos with the voracity of her howling protest- how can I possibly leave her with anyone and not feel any sense of guilt? Guilty for the person watching her, that is. It is debilitating to say the least. Embarrassing (at times) even. Because I have no more excuses. Whether she's tired, hungry, sleepy or groggy - the reason she cries the way she does is because I am her only sense of comfort and security. This of course is expected, being a stay at home mom.
And if it were a process, it will be a long and treacherous one.
This was something I didn't foresee when we moved here. Getting lost. The sense of emotional space I would have to deal with as a mother, without close proximity to the people I would otherwise - ask for help.
* * *
I wrote that draft a few weeks ago, with every intention of finishing it but hit a dead end when I fell short of finding transcendence in my struggles. Because there always is; says the adult in my head. I could've just deleted the draft and moved onto other things, but felt that that particular evening was definitive of how I've now decided to alter my perception of how things are versus how I think they ought to be.
So this weekend I tried to find my bearings by taking Mandarin to a park to simply let her be. The girl loves to run and explore. Allowing her to play and discover to her hearts content was liberating, the fresh albeit cold air, cathartic. It is simple days like this with my family that I like to pitch in my anchor and steady my sails for the bliss and battles to come.
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| Happy Baby = Happy Mommy = Happy Family. |
The internet (surprise!) harbors an alarming hoard of inspired words to live by. One in particular that I came across with:
"Life is not about waiting for the storm to pass...it's about learning to dance in the rain."
Of course, it's got me thinking: Migration is a bitch. There is it is. The simple truth. The hard truth. There are blessings of possibility and curses of detachment. It gives you opportunity with a side of isolation and pure moments of bliss with dismal echoes of gray discomfort. It is the constant turning of these binaries that can sometimes make settling into a life difficult. Manageable. But difficult at times.
I moved to a country known for vast spaces, interstate freeways and super sized opportunities and dreams only to find myself living a limited fraction of what I know I am fully capable of - with the biggest responsibility of my life nonetheless - Mandarin and motherhood. Now that I've finally (and painfully) admitted this to myself, I take it to duty to sift through my cluttered thoughts to find MY voice. To find MY place in the order of things, and ensure myself that I will have the tenacity to never get lost again.
When was the last time you danced in the rain?
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