12 Dec 2017
Baby got multitudes. She is as able to make me feel every misery my insides, and outsides, are capable of, as she is to make me feel like there is no world outside our flat and everything I will ever want is right here, wrapped in a towel, beside me. For a change, I want to speak about the later. I debate often whether I am or am not a “natural” parent – for the sake of the argument let’s assume there’s nothing confusing about this notion – some sh-t is so easy for me to do I am baffled that there are actual adults who struggle (following through on your word is simples, ya’ll), other things do not come as easily and already now, still at the start of the journey, I know I will never figure out how to deal with them. Like, no chance in hell I would be able to convince Sofia that something is “good for her” if she doesn’t feel that way. Obviously, this sucks.
But today I want to write about whatever is the opposite of parenting gloom and doom. Since ‘tis the season and Christmas spirits are in the sky, even I can’t resist a couple of “there’s something about the children are a joy theory” posts. Here’s the full sitch that’s lifting my spirits: Sofia is watching Netflix and writing something on a piece of paper. Her father calls to FaceTime her, which is when I hear her read him a “script” she’d been working on. She’d only done Scene One but no matter, I can hear that Scene One is gooood. She is asking daddy for help with character development before going “It’s ok, I really think mama will be better at this, I best go ask her”. You bet your ass, baby, I am better! You bet your ass I will help with anything you ever want to write and the thought of you working on a script is making me cry. Whatever, I may be a harsh mother-cker but I cherish my cries, ok?
I mean, Baby used adult words like “solemnly”, “devastatingly” and “venomous” (yeah, dark sh-t is right) in her writing – I have not been prouder since the day she, well, I can’t remember anything else she had actively pursued that had brought me gratification this serious. Not least of it, I think, is attributed to the fact that she got obsessed with working on it. I mean, Sofia, unfortunately, is like me in respect of distractions and obsessions: anything and everything can become both. And I wonder if maybe The Man Who Invented Christmas – the movie about how Charles Dickens wrote one of the world’s most beloved novels – that we had gone to see has left its impression on her, but she wouldn’t stop writing until sh-t got done. Yeah, baby! Normally, and by “normally” I mean always, I would be all up in her business – finish your homework, brush your teeth and this and that – this morning, I knew better than to squeak. Hello, it’s genius at work. By projecting my own fears of underachievement and lack of focus, I want to show her that she must hold on to hers (focus, I mean). In hindsight, I might have overthought it, still, I genuinely prefer it this way, the fear is real.
She’s decided she was going to make it a one-girl show (of course she did, she is a narcissist through and through, perfect for show business) at school and has been rehearsing all day. Like, good for you, Baby, and you go get’em! And you better be certain, confident and reassured that I will be right here if you ever need assistance with your writing should you want to make your voice heard in the future. For else you gon ask if not a serious-ass blogger? Ah man, I am looking forward to all the times we might get to put words on paper/screen together.