Wiggles
He used to get the Wiggles
Just once or twice a week
I saved them up for the days
Without an arvo sleep
But now he hears a single word
That associates with them
Hot potato, fruit salad
Hammer, dance and sing
It doesn't help that now he sleeps
Only every second day
I need to find activities
To keep his mind at bay
We paint, we draw, we walk outside
We even hang the clothes
We look at books, we play with cards
Trains, some cars, his nose
It doesn't matter what we do
Even if we've done his faves
He'll dance around and beg and plead
For Wiggles every day
And then when I say no
You've had them once this week
He lies upon the carpet
And his eyes, they spring a leak.
“Children are not a job you can leave, or a country you can return from. No one can guarantee you a child who matches your imaginings. You will get what you’re given – and there’s no turning back.”*
After seven years of motherhood, I still grapple with the truth of this brutally honest fact. There’s no walking away when things get tough. There’s no resigning to look for another job, one that pays better or appreciates your worth. There’s usually no gratitude for all the sheer, dogged hard work you put in on a daily (and often nightly) basis. And sometimes there’s no one around to de-brief with when you’ve reached your limit and have resorted to screaming to make yourself heard!
* From The Divided Heart, Art and Motherhood by Rachel Power