There have been many life experiences of which I am justifiably (or not) proud. I ran a successful consulting business for many years. I competed in a triathlon last year. I chased dolphins while sea kayaking off Vancouver Island. I dislocated a shoulder mountain biking in Alberta (that one was high on the oooh…ahhhh scale especially in the physiotherapists’ office). I have travelled from western Europe to western Canada with a pre-schooler numerous times (don't knock it if you've never done it).
However, none elicited the sense of accomplishment and extension beyond my normal comfort zone as that which I did yesterday. I correctly assembled an IKEA bookshelf by myself in under an hour. I am woman. Hear me roar!
When I was 6 months pregnant with J, C2 and I bought a glider chair and ottoman for the nursery. In the last almost 5 years, that chair has rocked J to sleep, quieted his tears, heard thousands of stories read aloud, and witnessed too-many-to-count cuddles and kisses. One of the first words J said while gesturing urgently to it with a book was ‘chair-chair-chair’.
Alas, at nearly 5-years old, chair-chair-chair no longer comfortably fits us together. He squirms, can’t get comfortable and ends up poking me in the ribs. So yesterday, in an effort to convince him that he would be happier with his new Playmobil castle in that corner of his room, he hesitantly agreed to move chair-chair-chair to the guest room being occupied by his grandma for the next 3 months.
His uncertainty at this decision grew as the day wore on. ‘This will be the saddest night ever mummy’, he forlornly told me as he climbed into bed in spite of my promises of new book shelves and a kid-size bean bag chair. I am mother. Feel my guilt!