1. The first
time was at our first-ever outing to church. The sermon had just started and
she was keeping quiet for the most part so naturally I was impressed and proud
at that point.
I should have known there would be a catch.
So there we sitting in our Sunday best, me feeling proud as
a peacock in my black LBD, my dad in his starched white shirt and blue tie alongside
me and then my daughter goes: Uuuuuuuhhhh!
I'm thinking, please dear Mycah not now! I just changed your nappy at home and you’re in a brand-new outfit, please not now.
Did she listen to my telepathic pleadings? Nope. My little
girl went straight ahead and pressed her stool out for dear life echoing the
sound through-out the whole quiet church.
Every beady eye – old and young – looked in our direction.
Almost like God opened the heavens and shone his heavenly brightness done upon
us.
She was not constipated; she was going through what every infant
goes through: Dyschezia.
It’s when infants and sometimes even toddlers strain
excessively when passing stools – even when their bowel movements are normal –
some says it’s for sound effects; others say it could be due to a lack of intestinal motility as newborns have yet to learn that function.
Either way, it’s embarrassing.
2. The second time she made my face burn and tomatoed my cheeks was in
the parking lot of Cavendish mall.
We were looking for outfits for this larney wedding we were going to attend so Mycah needed to sit in her pram.
Despite her steady squirming, I strapped her into the Maclaren,
trying to deftly work the stupid lock while her small arms flailed around and
her cute little legs kicked widely.
I finally managed to ‘click’ her in when she proceeded to
throw a disgusting tantrum. She fog-horned loudly and pushed up so hard
the pram fell back.
Thud!
She knocked her head against the hard tarmac and then let out an ear-splitting scream.
My heart sank because I could see that it hurt a lot and so
I quickly bent down to pick her up.
As I stood up with her in my arms I saw the very, very angry
eyes of a few other passers-by. I was shocked silent. One couple looked down on
me like I was pus and did that tsk-tsk-tsk that most people do when your child
is unruly.
Another lady seemed to want to run ahead and take Mycah out
of my arms.
I felt ashamed. I was embarrassed to the point of thinking I
was the world’s worst mother when it wasn’t even my fault. My child knocked her
own head.
It was around that point (all the previous year’s slow shaking
of my head at other women and whispering to my sister, “My child will never do
that to me!”) that it started flooding back putting things nicely into perspective.
Every situation has a context. There are two sides to a
story. Walk a mile in someone’s shoes before you judge them. All clichés I
know, but it’s true.
Because we parents really do try our best.
