It’s Sunday night. Emma’s in bed, trying to do everything in her power to lure me into her bedtime games and I’m pooped. I love my weekends with Emma but holy crap they’re hard work. I’ve told Emma I’m changing my name to TwentyFourSeven ’cause that’s how often she calls me…
After a weekend with little Miss Chatterbox I’m ready to go back to work on a Monday. As exhausting as my day job is it doesn’t come close to a weekend with my sproglet. This is where I tip my hat to moms around the world. Single moms especially.
It’s not to say I don’t love love love my time with her, but sometimes I need a time out. I want to be able to sit in a naughty corner with my thoughts, my Kindle and a cup of tea. From the time she wakes up to the time she goes to sleep it’s “mom”, “mama”, “mommy”, “mom” and sometimes even an “angel”. We play. We read. We run in the garden. We meet friends. We go to parties. We snooze during the day. We have supper. We bath. We play. We read. We run in the garden…Occasionally I say a little prayer which goes something like this:
Lord grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change,
Courage to change the things I can
Patience to get through the hard times
Memory to hold onto the good times
And a night nurse so I can get some sleep….
Today was a busy day with Max’s party at Serendipity in Rosebank at 10am. A great time was had by all and Emma cried when we had to leave, or rather when she had to leave Thabani behind. We stopped at home briefly, collected dad and met friends at the Good Food and Wine show at The Dome. It was absolute chaos and as Murphy would have it I was ill prepared. Emma had a bit of an accident and I didn’t have a change of clothes. The crowds were insane. There were queues for queues and I was on sensory overload. I could hear people chewing on their food from metres away and gulping their refreshments down. It was like the intro to Dexter.
So after a R50 schwarma and a R15 can of coke we headed home. I was fantasizing about an afternoon nap and couldn’t wait to hit the pillow. Alas, Emma had other plans and none of them included a snooze. She chatted away, stroked my arm, tickled me, told me she loved me, played with my hair, kicked me in the ribs, head-butted me and giggled away. So much for a nap.
But when all is said and done, and I put her to bed for the night I am eternally grateful for the opportunity and time I have with her.
A day with little Emma Ruth = exhausting
A day without a nap = soul destroying.
Hearing an unprompted “I love you mommy” = priceless