“Hold on tired” is one of those phrases my 2yo daughter Ella stubbornly resists correcting, despite hearing me repeat the proper phrase every time she says it. Every article on toddler taming will include the advice to “chose your battles”, so I let this one go. And chose it as the title of my blog for reasons as yet unknown to my conscious mind.
My conscious mind (or should that read ‘in rare times of consciousness’?) is also not quite sure yet why I started this blog. My friend G may have to answer that one. She is now obliged to read whatever I post here, because ultimately it was her idea!
For those who are not my friend and/or have no friggin idea who the hell I am and are still reading, a short introduction may be in order.
Name is Lin. That’s not even my real name, as in not what’s on my passport and similar official documents, but that’s how everyone I associate with in my current country of residence knows me as.
Age is 37. Can’t even think of anything to say about that. I don’t really care about age. Do care somewhat about the effects of ageing, but I don’t lie awake about it.
Have been in Australia for nearly 10 years. Expect a massive Australiana party on the 9th of December for the 10th anniversary of my arrival in Australia. The reasons why I came here are not important to this blog, which will mainly focus on my current role as a parent, which brings me to:
Ella. Born on 5 January 2005. Beautiful, cute, clever, communicative and intentionally and unintentionally very, very funny. Of course I realise that I am totally biased and that if she were the most ugly child in the Southern hemisphere, I would still think of her as an angel sent from heaven. And were it not for other people – often total strangers, passersby-s (sp?) – confirming at regular intervals my suspicion that my child has not only the gift of the gab, but is also cursed by good looks (I have to say cursed, I’m a feminist for god’s sake, I’m not suppose to care about my daughter’s appearance!), there’d be no way this (secretly) very proud mother would ever know how Ella rates on the universal beauty and cuteness scale.
The very open and impulsive admiration of outsiders directed towards Ella often makes me feel somewhat awkward. On the one hand it makes me feel like I am merely a shadowy blob at the edge of my daughter’s blindingly bright aura. On the other, I never liked the limelight and don’t know what to do with all this attention this little blond midget at my side attracts. There is no way I can compete with her when it comes to physical charm so I am constantly trying to guess if the admirers are secretly thinking: “How did this plane jane manage to produce such a beautiful child?” which makes me feel like a cheat. Admittedly it is a question I myself have been trying to answer for the past 2.5 years, but when I think it, it does not dent my self-esteem. On the contrary. It makes me feel like a powerful goddess capable of creating extraordinary beauty at will.
(Oh and not that the attention she attracts is purely because of physical features. She appears genuinely charming in every meaning of the word.)
I suspect this blog will end up consisting primarily of “Ella-stories”. From the ones that crack me up through to the ones that involve me wanting to strangle her in Homeresque fashion.
If you are still reading, I hope you didn’t find it a waste of your time. I hate wasting people’s time! Which must be my cue to press that publish post button now.