Raising a child is a lot like baking a cake. You gather all the ingredients, put them together and hope for the best. Well that’s I how bake anyway. Hell, that’s how I parent. Nothing is guaranteed. Sometimes the cake rises to the occasion and sometimes it’s a complete
fuck up flop. It’s never fool-proof, no two cakes ever come out the same and you never quite know how you’ve done until the cooking time is complete. You can’t open the oven door halfway through and add in the baking powder, or mix it a little more thoroughly or remove the nuts you shouldn't have added. You simply have to give it a jolly good go and wait it out. And you only ever get one chance with
that cake. This is exactly how I feel about being a mother. Did I over mix it? Is it completely cooked through? Will it sink in the middle? Will my kids look back on their childhood and think ‘
hell yeah, we had a good one’ or will they need to breathe into a paper bag and work through all sorts of neuroses that a therapist will tell them I was responsible for? Too much squawking, sarcasm, passive aggression and perfectionist tendencies – my arsenal of arsehole attributes that are kryptonite for my kids. Any kids, really. But mine mostly on account of them being mine. And by then it’s too late. And I’m a lush because our children are emotional train wrecks. It’s a sobering thought.
A thirteen year old South African girl who was badly hurt in a car accident on Christmas Eve got me thinking about all of this. She sustained terrible head injuries and it looked like she wouldn’t make it. She has though. She woke up. She breathes on her own. She lives. She’s got a long road to recovery ahead of her, yet every day she’s defying medical odds. It's a remarkable story.
Sitting at her bedside in the hospital, her mum recently asked her to point to a set of emotion cards that reflect how she felt at that very moment. She chose the cards: Loved. Calm. Happy. Peaceful. Brave. This is a young girl who literally has part of her skull stored in her abdomen for safe keeping because it was so badly damaged. And while she’s faced with some big obstacles, she’s still able to reflect with such positivity and gratitude. There’s no blame, anger or pity. Just those five wonderful words. That’s one extraordinary child. And those are a set of extraordinary parents.
I’d give my one clean
-ish kidney for either of my children to look back on their childhood and say, "
I felt loved. Calm. Happy. Peaceful. Brave.” What a gift that would be. Not just for them because they’ll be delightfully self-aware little souls ready and able to conquer all of life’s challenges, obvs. But also for us as their parents. Until then though, we try. Hard. We lovingly watch the cakes we’ve baked. We do our best. And we hope for the best. Because only time will tell how they turn out. Well, time and my daughter, she’ll tell the world. Inspired by an amazing young South African girl a continent away, I asked my daughter to choose just two words to describe how she feels about her life. She looked me straight in the eye with all of her seven years and sass, and said:
“Mmmm, I feel unsure and um, weird. Why would you ask me that? How much wine have you had?" Sobering thoughts indeed.
I'm very grateful for all the cake in my life. And my children. Not in that order (well
some days) but they're worth every burn in every sense of the word, every catastrophe cake-related or otherwise - and all the sass. And to that warrior young woman down south, I promise I will strive to love bigger, keep calm(er), be happier, foster more peace and be braver so that my children learn to do the same. Big-ups to not being a bad mamabaker. Big-ups to being a bad-ass mamabaker - in the making.
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| Me, My Sass and I |
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From Kiara's Mum's Blog
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