Here’s to you, Mary Poppins

I’ve been a very bad blogger in recent weeks. Which is to say, I haven’t been touring the ‘Hood as frequently as I would like, and I certainly haven’t been tapping on doors and dropping in for tea and a chat. I’ve been a bit overwhelmed by life, and everything, and it has seemed somewhat beyond my capacity to drop cheery notes here and there and everywhere in the blogosphere.

It’s an old saw, being overwhelmed by parenthood/motherhood/adulthood/BEING. Such an old saw, such an old story. I’ve avoided dwelling on it because, well, it gets old to my own ears: it’s hard it’s hard it’s hard. At a certain point, it becomes a din, a tired din, a grating refrain that begs only one response: deal with it.

About a month ago, or so, maybe longer, it’s all a blur, I wrote about feeling overwhelmed by the human tornado that is my tiny daughter. Barely one (ten or eleven months or so at time of writing), she has proven remarkably adept at kicking my ass. She’s smart, she’s fast, she’s strong; she is not interested in sitting still, in staying in strollers, in doing anything but marching determinedly through the world grabbing and grasping and hooting at everything. This is a wonderful, wonderful thing, her will, her force – but it exhausts me. Oh, how it exhausts me.

I was reminded, yesterday, of the sentiments expressed in that post (Survivor: Child Island) as I struggled with my Tasmanian Devil of a child through the pouring rain, my sweet little monster refusing to sit in her stroller (I won’t get into the physics of it, but she can get partially out and hangs over the side, hooting until I free her), refusing to be carried, preferring, instead, to meander through the rain, exploring puddles, stamping in puddles, at a pace of about two feet every ten minutes. This would be fine, this pace, this exultation in rain and puddles, but that it was pouring rain and it was cold and it was getting darker and darker and we had places to be. Ultimately, I was successful in wrestling her and the stroller and our gear (oh for a Sherpa), but it was challenging and frustrating and as rainwater streamed down my face and down my back and my little tornado pushed against me with all of her strength all I could think was, this is too freaking hard.

And then I thought of Mary P.

Mary P. came to my rescue when I shouted my frustrations in the blogosphere the other month. Actually, dozens upon dozens of helpful parents came to my rescue, with their commiseration and their advice and their sympathy, but Mary P. stood out because she – a childcare provider and all-around superhero – took my story and the description of my circumstances and really worked them through her wringer of experience and knowledge and spot-on intuition and came up with some really good advice, advice that I put into practice immediately, with immediate results. I haven’t overcome my struggle entirely – obviously – and WonderBaby still possesses the power to kick my ass, but Mary P. gave me some tools to work with and, most importantly, reminded me to not be so hard on myself. All of this – invaluable.

It was the reminder to not be so hard on myself that won the day for me yesterday. I was tired and wet and my plans for the day were somewhat tattered, but really? It was all fine. There were some things that I could have done differently, but end of the day, it was just one more day in the Mother ‘Hood, perhaps a more challenging day than others, but still – just one more day. One more day in which I really did my best and in which I made, inevitably, some mistakes, but in which there was fun and love and mess and frustration and all the things that make motherhood what it is. A day in which I took a moment to stand back and remind myself of these things.

I made a promise, soon after I wrote that post, that I would compile Mary P’s advice and all of the advice and recommendations from my bloggy neighbours into a resource page. I’m still working on that, but I’m now more determined than ever to get it up as soon as possible. In the meantime: thanks to everyone who lent a supportive (if virtual) arm. And thanks especially to Mary, who really is the closest thing to Mary Poppins ’round here.