8. It's Genetic

You know those little quirks your small people have? Those ones that make you feel like opening up a spray bottle of whipped cream and a jar of Nutella to see which of them could win the slide down your throat contest? Yes, those quirks. I have learnt, much to my chagrin, that those are my fault. It's genetic. I look at my daughter's distraught face and ensuing "I am very very very sad at you" tap dance, and tell her that she needs to be patient. Then I hear myself. In the midst of my, "Nevaeh, this is your Adamic nature coming out in full force" pep talk I have a quick mental flash of myself driving... And by that I mean pronouncing gloom and doom upon other drivers who frustrate me. "Patient" is definitely not a word that would be used to describe my temperament. I am somewhat ashamed to admit this, but I am inserting a copy of an actual text I sent out to some of my friends at midnight when I was immensely frustrated with a company called Enviroserv. 

"May the fleas of a thousand camels infest Dean Thompson's armpits and crotch;

May the body odor of a thousand Bedouin herders dwell in his house forever;

May all his fries be cold and soggy and his burger buns stale;

May all his soft drinks be flat;

May all his socks come off deep within his shoes every day;

May his pets pee all over his nice furniture;

May all his keys jam in his doors;

May he stub his toes daily."

The back story here is that Enviroserv is a highly toxic waste disposal site that receives toxic waste from other countries and "disposes" of it for a small fee... Their disposal site is very near to where we used to live. I doubt that the English language contains enough adjectives to adequately describe the level of awfulness Enviroserv produces. It smells as though Satan himself has had a violent stomach bug and the gasses of hell have descended upon the earth. Their toxicity has caused so many health issues and the battle against them continues to rage. 

My purpose for this fairly lengthy ramble is to demonstrate, via my text, that "patient" and "relaxed" are not really applicable to the "list of words that describe me". I am 31 years old and my character is still a work in progress. Why, then, do I expect my 1 year old to be a more refined version of myself? Lunacy I tell you. Nevaeh's food trust issues come from me. Her hair twirling definitely comes from her father. She is the most miraculous combination of Sid and me. It really is phenomenal when you research a bit about the process of bringing new life into being. I think it's one of my favourite things that God designed. That being said, Sid and I both have characteristics and elements to our personalities that aren't exactly a basket of kittens. So while the good stuff in Nevaeh comes from us, so does the bad. I really can't blame anyone for this child's intensely dramatic expressions and outbursts of either delight or frustration. It's genetic. It feels like I'm looking in the mirror when she glares at me for daring to tell her that she can't throw herself off a balcony ledge or stick her fingers in a plug socket. Hang around us for long enough and you will get to encounter her "this is the end of the world" dance and screech routine because the swine parents removed the tv remotes from her hand of dominion. On the flip side, when something makes her happy, her face lights up like the sun and she gasps in delight. Her euphoric times include when she's allowed to run free and unhindered in a place we designate to be safe, when we sing "The Wheels On The Bus" for the 19th time in a row, when she sees any animal - we are still working on the concept of being gentle as her pleasure tends to be expressed with kicking; when Sid gets back from work each day - this involves squeaks of happiness and much clapping, and the general excitement that accompanies Barney songs. We always know how she feels about everything, every millisecond of every day. It's genetic. 

I'm grateful that she won't be a pushover. I'm grateful that she knows what she does and doesn't like, even though it does drive me somewhat loopy at this stage of life. Her strength and confidence are beautiful characteristics that will need directing and moulding. Right now what these characteristics mean is that whenever we have to give her medicine or wash her hair, it sounds like we are doing an exorcism. One day I will be grateful for her strength. Just not always at this current moment in time when we are in public and she wants to destroy all the flowers in a shop. We need supernatural help to parent this magnificent child of ours. If there's one thing I know it's that I don't know very much. Each day carries new challenges and new rewards. I pray that I will be able to steward this enormous responsibility and privilege in the right way. I want to be someone behind closed doors who Nevaeh wants to emulate in her daily life. I think I'm seeing that who I am at home is actually far more important than who I am in public or who I am on social media. It's the small things I do and don't do each day that will shape my child. It's a terrifying thought. Let's all pray for grace to survive and possibly even excel at this wild adventure called "parenting". I can't tell you how to be successful. All I can say is that we can never hug, kiss, cuddle, play with, read to and encourage our offspring too much. We are all busy - but I hope we manage to get in some extra cuddle time today. It's always worth it.