Mama Talk on our long separation
I wrote this Mama Talk after Stephen took Ben for the second time to be gone all day. The first time was the actual job interview, the second time was for him to sign papers and stuff. The woman ended up calling him and pushing back their appointment by two and a half hours due to car trouble. They didn't get home until after Ben's bedtime and I felt so horrible for the poor little guy. He's going to go through so much worse than this though in the coming weeks.
Wish us strength you guys. Change is always so hard.
Who am I anyway?
I’ve been narrating my actions basically ever since Benjamin was born 2 years ago. Whether I’m cooking dinner, unloading the dishwasher, or brushing my teeth, I always say each step out loud. The purpose of this is to help Ben learn about how things work as well as help him develop his language skills from hearing me blabber all day.
It’s second nature now, and for the most part, I don’t even realize that I’m doing it.
This came to my attention recently, when my husband had an out-of-town appointment and brought Ben with him for the day. After I got off work, I was home alone for a few hours, for the first time in eons.
It took quite some time for me to figure out why the dog kept eagerly following me around as I scurried around the house doing chores and various odds and ends. It turns out I was speaking aloud throughout the whole thing, and since there was no one else home, she assumed I must be talking to her.
I laughed and was embarrassed for a minute or two, but then much to my horror, found that I couldn’t stop doing it even when I tried.
Worse, the monologue was stuck in third person, because I always refer to myself as “Mama” for Ben’s benefit. He has enough issues with viewpoint usage as it is, I don’t need to make it any worse. (I can’t help but giggle every time he says “Mama pick up you.” Get it? Because when I talk to him, I call him “you.”)
But it got me to thinking.
“Mama” is who I am when Ben is with me. But who am I when he is not?
Looks like I had plenty of time to figure that out.
After the chores were finished, I got in the bath, and turned the water up to toddler-scalding temperatures. I washed my hair and actually took the time to brush it out.
I filed my nails and sat down to knit, something that inevitably gets interrupted each and every time I attempt it.
For background, I turned on the Dixie Chicks - a far cry from our household’s usual tunes, the ABC song and “B-I-N-G-O.”
But it wasn’t too long before my knitting ended up back on top of the television cabinet while I stared at my cell phone, glanced at the clock, and stared back at my cell phone.
No missed calls.
Nearly 13 hours had gone by since I gave my son a kiss in the car before work and told him “I love you. Have a good day with Grandma.”
It was the longest I’d been away from him in more than 18 months. I thought about how much longer I should wait before freaking out would be appropriate.
Thankfully, that’s about when our family car pulled up in front of our house, and a tired, cold and cranky Benjamin toddled down the sidewalk holding his Papa’s hand.
He looked haggard. Though he is not quite articulate enough to put it exactly this way, I could tell when he greeted me that he was really saying, “It was too long Mama. I tried to be a big boy, but it was just too long.”
I scooped him up in my arms and held on tight.
Who am I without Benjamin?
Nobody.
Wish us strength you guys. Change is always so hard.
Who am I anyway?
I’ve been narrating my actions basically ever since Benjamin was born 2 years ago. Whether I’m cooking dinner, unloading the dishwasher, or brushing my teeth, I always say each step out loud. The purpose of this is to help Ben learn about how things work as well as help him develop his language skills from hearing me blabber all day.
It’s second nature now, and for the most part, I don’t even realize that I’m doing it.
This came to my attention recently, when my husband had an out-of-town appointment and brought Ben with him for the day. After I got off work, I was home alone for a few hours, for the first time in eons.
It took quite some time for me to figure out why the dog kept eagerly following me around as I scurried around the house doing chores and various odds and ends. It turns out I was speaking aloud throughout the whole thing, and since there was no one else home, she assumed I must be talking to her.
I laughed and was embarrassed for a minute or two, but then much to my horror, found that I couldn’t stop doing it even when I tried.
Worse, the monologue was stuck in third person, because I always refer to myself as “Mama” for Ben’s benefit. He has enough issues with viewpoint usage as it is, I don’t need to make it any worse. (I can’t help but giggle every time he says “Mama pick up you.” Get it? Because when I talk to him, I call him “you.”)
But it got me to thinking.
“Mama” is who I am when Ben is with me. But who am I when he is not?
Looks like I had plenty of time to figure that out.
After the chores were finished, I got in the bath, and turned the water up to toddler-scalding temperatures. I washed my hair and actually took the time to brush it out.
I filed my nails and sat down to knit, something that inevitably gets interrupted each and every time I attempt it.
For background, I turned on the Dixie Chicks - a far cry from our household’s usual tunes, the ABC song and “B-I-N-G-O.”
But it wasn’t too long before my knitting ended up back on top of the television cabinet while I stared at my cell phone, glanced at the clock, and stared back at my cell phone.
No missed calls.
Nearly 13 hours had gone by since I gave my son a kiss in the car before work and told him “I love you. Have a good day with Grandma.”
It was the longest I’d been away from him in more than 18 months. I thought about how much longer I should wait before freaking out would be appropriate.
Thankfully, that’s about when our family car pulled up in front of our house, and a tired, cold and cranky Benjamin toddled down the sidewalk holding his Papa’s hand.
He looked haggard. Though he is not quite articulate enough to put it exactly this way, I could tell when he greeted me that he was really saying, “It was too long Mama. I tried to be a big boy, but it was just too long.”
I scooped him up in my arms and held on tight.
Who am I without Benjamin?
Nobody.