Thirteen
She rolls mascara eyes
at our old jokes
and sleeps till noon.
The quilt cover
with the pony pattern
and cuddly toys
get packed away.
She’d rather have nothing
on the quilt
nothing to remind her
she was a child.
She kisses her frogs
goodbye
sells them to the pet shop.
The rabbit and guinea pig
are left to roam free
in the garden
content
like the cat and dog
not to be dressed
in dolls clothes
any more.
She has traded them all
for an eternity
of conversations
on the mobile phone
and computer –
MSN and MySpace.
She hangs
with boys instead -
hoping perhaps
that they will turn
into princes.
“My patience, resolutions and beliefs are tested to the limits – sometimes daily.”*
Right at this moment one of my challenges is the constant, tuneless whistling from my elder son. When my boys were babies it was getting them to sleep or trying to figure out why they were crying. On any given day now, it might be squabbling, fighting, teasing, screaming, shouting or rudeness. Who’d be a parent? We might well question ourselves after the event, but we can’t very well put them back! Just how we find those inner resources, how we constantly demand more of ourselves, how we keep marching up that hill with a smile on our face and gladness in our heart at the sight of our ‘babies’ is one of life’s mysteries.
* © from Being Mummy by Anne‑marie Taplin published April 2007