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Abstract

p id="db15">For example, my husband put a stop to my way of trying to get our son to eat his meals and stop being fussy because it just wasn’t working. After a certain period of time of him implementing his own way of doing things, which was firmer and stricter than I would’ve liked, I started to see some changes in my son and how he would sit down to eat the entire plate of food in front of him.</p><p id="21fa">Now, Andriel looks forward to sitting down next to his parents and mostly eats his entire plate, including the veg. My husband was right, and I was wrong — at least for a period of time (because no one knows the future and kids are unpredictable!)</p><p id="60fc"><b>But my husband didn’t say “I told you so”.</b> He didn’t discredit me as a mother, even if I did question my own decision making. He understood that being wrong is not a bad thing, and also, that <b>I wasn’t “wrong” to begin with</b>. Some things work, and some things don’t work for our children. And some things work for a while and then need to be changed. And that’s OK.</p><p id="4e9d">Parenting, while continuous, is flexible.</p><p id="ec93"><a href="https://readmedium.com/how-to-successfully-wing-it-d39222a3d808">And we are all winging it.</a></p><h1 id="101b">Lowering Expectations Is Empowering</h1><p id="cde5">I have this constant need as the main caregiver to simply know what to do and get it right — especially after all the research I do on many aspects of parenting. But the thing is, it is only because of my own expectations that we get upset when things don’t work out. We paint a picture of how things will go, and when they don’t go our way, we self-criticise.</p><p id="3b33">Recently, I have been struggling to make the decision of whether to send our son to daycare. Because of the recent lockdowns, I feared that he wasn’t getting enough social stimulation and he needed to spend more time with other children. We decided to send him to a local nursery two mornings a week.</p><p id="fec8">But that wasn’t my only reason for wanting to send him there. I also needed more time to really step up my game as a writer, begin marketing myself and really work on my book.</p><p id="fa4a">But I’m tired of questioning myself, and <a href="https://readmedium.com/how-to-get-what-you-want-1973fd008ecb">since taking the road to self-care</a> in order to be a better mother and person, I decided that my reasons were as good as any to send Andriel to daycare at the age of 27 months.</p><p id="d466">It has only been a few weeks, and so far, he does not look forward to going there. I feel in fact he has become shier and clingier than usual. This makes me question once again whether what I am doing is right, and whether the caregivers at the centre are doing right by my son.</p><p id="93a8"><b>I’m ready to assign blame and judge because this is what we do as people growing up in today’s society.</b></p><div id="5778" class="link-block"> <a href="https://readmedium.com/learning-to-enjoy-motherhood-guilt-free-966e7fa38d58"> <div> <div> <h2>Learning To Enjoy Motherhood Guilt-Free</h2> <div><h3>undefined</h3></div> <div><p>undefined</p></div> </div> <div> <div style="background-image: url(https://miro.readmedium.com/v2/resize:fit:320/0*o44YftcYVXjSo_va)"></div> </div> </div> </a> </div><p id="d0f8">But I have to remember that it will solve nothing. I need to readjust my expectations and remind myself that everything takes time and that obstacles are all part of the journey, including my son’s settling in time at daycare.</p><p id="1231">He will get there because he is a strong and sociable little boy. He will be fine because he will still have an abundance of love at home waiting for him when he gets back and throughout the rest of the week. But I cannot decide how and when he will be running happily into nursery in the mornings — that’s a picture I need to let go of, but treasure if it happens.</p><p id="b15a">Sometimes, it

Options

is our expectations that need change, not our circumstances. We have to be OK with hiccups in parenting. Rather, we need not see them as hiccups, but as part of the process of bringing up children. After all, we are only human.</p><h1 id="7806">Takeaway</h1><figure id="facf"><img src="https://cdn-images-1.readmedium.com/v2/resize:fit:800/0*0ZLtDIAU40LQtOeo"><figcaption>Photo by <a href="https://unsplash.com/@drezart?utm_source=medium&utm_medium=referral">Andrae Ricketts</a> on <a href="https://unsplash.com?utm_source=medium&utm_medium=referral">Unsplash</a></figcaption></figure><p id="f3a0">I believe in a mother’s instinct, but I don’t believe in the expectation that it will be there when we need it. If that expectation isn’t met then we will be more than ready to assign blame, and it won’t help us grow as parents or as individuals. In fact, I think that the constant need to meet these expectations is what causes us to feel like a failure at some point in our lives.</p><p id="b5d4">Instead, I recommend a more supportive plan, where advice can be handed out without coming across as all-knowing and dismissive of the parent. We can learn not to feel offended at others’ suggestions in the same way that others can learn not to be judgemental. I advise that others do get involved in taking care of kids, in a non-judgemental “I-told-you-so” way when the main interest is that of the child — not of themselves.</p><p id="1680">Most importantly, we have to learn that <b>mistakes are normal</b>, and most of the time, they’re not life-threatening. We are all human after all, and that makes us susceptible to countless errors over the course of time. In modern parenting, most parents are learning not to scold their kids when they make mistakes because it’s detrimental to their confidence building. <i>We should take that same approach with ourselves and other adults.</i></p><p id="93d5">So, let’s cut ourselves a little slack, and lower that pressure to get it right. Nobody is born a parent with experience.</p><div id="2a67" class="link-block"> <a href="https://readmedium.com/redefining-the-concept-of-happiness-16e5524c2b2d"> <div> <div> <h2>Redefining the Concept of Happiness</h2> <div><h3>How I’m learning about fulfilment from my toddler son.</h3></div> <div><p>medium.com</p></div> </div> <div> <div style="background-image: url(https://miro.readmedium.com/v2/resize:fit:320/0*6xDaJcMnjn9r6Bow)"></div> </div> </div> </a> </div><div id="88c4" class="link-block"> <a href="https://readmedium.com/my-battle-with-anger-as-a-parent-24e7837c5fac"> <div> <div> <h2>My Battle With Anger As a Parent</h2> <div><h3>Ensuring our son feels loved regardless of our feelings.</h3></div> <div><p>medium.com</p></div> </div> <div> <div style="background-image: url(https://miro.readmedium.com/v2/resize:fit:320/1*Me4slkvdZGGCbsbjqQ_7bg.jpeg)"></div> </div> </div> </a> </div><div id="c95b" class="link-block"> <a href="https://readmedium.com/my-husband-is-a-damn-good-father-de20d1ef2217"> <div> <div> <h2>My Husband Is A Damn Good Father</h2> <div><h3>And he deserves praise.</h3></div> <div><p>medium.com</p></div> </div> <div> <div style="background-image: url(https://miro.readmedium.com/v2/resize:fit:320/0*Oqw-YSI_IVOLn-k0)"></div> </div> </div> </a> </div><p id="7dcc"><b><i>Sylvia Emokpae, thinker and philosopher, is passionate about self-love, relationships, and motherhood. <a href="https://medium.com/@sylviaemokpae">See more work like this</a>.</i></b></p><p id="f728"><a href="https://twitter.com/SylviaEmokpae"><b>Follow her</b></a><b> on Twitter.</b></p></article></body>

Free Ticket to Nowhere Chapter 10

A Stark Mystery

Looking down as I trudged along followed by a bunch of ex-Monkees, a munchkin and lion, I realized that under the shifting sands covering the road, I could see golden bricks here and there. The hell had happened to this place?

Or, I reconsidered, taking a glance at the horizon which never seemed to get any nearer, had I stumbled into a vest-pocket dimension, some utterly weird parallel existence in which singing was a form of magic? What if the crew marching after me were like a — a secret weapon here?

Jesus. I took off my hat and wiped my brow. What were they putting in gin these days?

Like a mirage from a time long past, the Corn-u-copia Hotel appeared in the gathering dusk, complete with gold-plated turrets and twinkling fairy lights — a more welcomed sight I can’t recall. Saliva filled my mouth in anticipation of an all-you-can-eat buffet and the fillings in my teeth caroled with the thought of icy, imported brews. I could use a shower too, I realized as a backdraft brought the unlovely reek of the dead corn and sour sweat to my nose.

We reached the facade and I looked up. And up. And up.

“Mr. Stark?” The doorman, dressed in purple livery, smiled in a creepy kind of way. “And…entourage?”

I smiled back. Not at the greeting but at the wash of frigid air-conditioned air that hit me as the big glass doors slid open. Nirvana.

“That’s me,” I agreed, stepping past him. “And them.”

“Any luggage, sir?”

Only a broken heart, I wanted to say but didn’t. Sounded too much like a song and who knew how dangerous that might be…here.

“Your suite is ready.”

I hadn’t taken more than a few steps into the plush surrounds of the lobby when a skeletally-thin and long-limbed man appeared, crossing the soundlessly thick carpet like a two-legged spider. He was holding a shiny golden key and brandishing the same hinky smile as the doorman so I guessed he was the concierge.

“If there’s anything I can do…?”

“Uh…thanks.” I took the key. “And for my…friends?”

“Accommodations have already been made.”

“Okay then.” I tried to look like this happened to me all the time. “Uh, it’s been a long — ”

“Yes,” he said, cutting me off so fluidly I couldn’t even take offense. “A meal and refreshments have been sent to your suite, along with fresh clothing, personal hygiene products and a costume for this evening’s gala performance — all as instructed, sir.”

Whoa. Gala performance? That was a few goddamned levels above my pay grade.

“Gala…?” My voice broke mid-word, the end rising to a note that sounded suspiciously like a squeak, and I cleared my throat self-consciously.

“Certainly, sir.” The spider-man grinned. “Ms. De Toit has scheduled it to follow immediately after Ms. Kelly’s discussion panel of her new book.”

Now, the plot was thickening up like a pot of three-day-old beans. We were finally cooking with gas!

My mouth hadn’t stopped salivating and I wiped my chin. “Alrighty then! Lead the way, Riff-Raff.”

Lucky for me, he didn’t take offense at the moniker.

He led the way to a tiny elevator and like clowns in a car in reverse, we all forced our way in. I thought the monkees could’ve taken the next one but they were disinclined. The odors of the journey were magnified in the small space. Monkeys — even monkees — have a pretty distinctive smell.

To distract myself from the distracting pressing on my person, I thought about the case. It was all coming together. Krystal would be here, discussing De Toit’s manuscript and passing it off as her own. If I could find the copy before the panel, I could finish this job and enjoy some well-earned R&R in this place.

“Where’s Ms. Kelly’s room again?” I asked the concierge, with as much casual nonchalance as I could manage considering I was being squeezed like a sardine in a can.

“Ms. Kelly has the penthouse suite,” he responded breathlessly, his eyes swiveling to the floor number panel that was strobing like a disco floor as we rocketed upward. A hundred and eighty floors in total. There would be no abseiling from the roof or jumping from balcony to balcony here. I wondered if the monkees could get back their wings?

The elevator reached the hundred and twentieth floor and the doors opened. I fell out.

“Hey, Stark!” The lion called out in a falsetto. I turned to see his pained expression. Fred had been jammed into his jewels. “What’s our number tonight?”

I laughed. “Only one song it could be, guys — “I’m a Believer!”

Continues in Chapter 11:

Free Ticket to Nowhere Chapter 11

A Stark Mystery

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Previous Chapters:

Chapter 1 • Chapter 2 • Chapter 3 • Chapter 4 • Chapter 5 • Chapter 6 • Chapter 7 • Chapter 8 • Chapter 9