It is another wonderfully drizzly Easter morning. My daughter is snuggled on the couch watching the Night Garden while I sit at my desk, cradling a cup of tea in my hands. I have opened the window wide, letting in the crisp morning air. I love these autumn mornings with the first delicious hint of winter in the air.Yesterday I had all the relatives over for my daughter’s third birthday, so I got up early and set to baking cup cakes and decorating the table in a tea party theme. I even purchased little iced fairies for the cake. Well the first diaster for the day was when the icing for the cup cakes turned into a watery mess, despite following the instructions to the word. My nieces ended up dipping the cupcakes into the icing like fondue, leaving trails of pink icing across the tablecloth and very sticky fingers. My daughter, who has no interest in sweets, was content to nibble on her organic oat biscuits. I was appeased a bit when the girls announced that it was absolutely delicious.
After lunch it was time to sing Happy Birthday and cut the cake. Well Elizabeth would have none of that. She refused it sit in front of the cake for the obligatory happy snap and even placed her hands over her ears when we tempted to sing Happy Birthday. When she was reduced to almost to the point of tears I gave up. She then ran back into the lounge room quite happily and started clapping her hands: Elizabeth 1064, Mum 0. After this, we went into the backyard where I set up the bubble machine. At last, success. The girls laughed and squealed as they chased hundreds of bubbles over the backyard. It reminded me of one of the scenes from a Fairyopolis book: it was quite enchanting.
On the verge of a sugar overdose, I waved goodbye to everyone and collapsed on the lounge. Not willing to fight over the television, I let Elizabeth watch one of her own Dvd’s. It was at this stage that the people in the Townhouse adjoining mine turned on their music. There is nothing more annoying then that constant whump, whump through the walls when you are nursing a headache. On the verge of throwing a chair against the wall the music was turned off and I slowly felt the tension of the day draining out of me.
As I watched my daughter happily pottering around the house I realised that a year after her diagnoses I still find myself willing things to be normal. To have a child that will indulge her Mother and smile sweetly for the camera, and who does normal, fun kids things liking dipping cupcakes into icing and licking the sticky mess of her fingers. I know I must lower these expectations and be thankful for what I have: a happy, healthy child who finds pleasure in a soft, summer shower, or the wind blowing in her face, or the feel of sand beneath her bare feet. A child who is more interested in the sights and sounds of the shopping centre then that plastic toy they place within easy reach of little fingers at the checkout. A child who grins at you cheekily as she is about to climb onto the kitchen bench and then gives you an enormous hug when you ‘rescue’ her again for the tenth time. But I’m still a Mother and sometimes it is hard to let go of those images of a perfect, happy little family you build in your head while pregnant. But, ever so slowly, I’m getting there.
