You see, the thing is, I don’t think I am very good at this parenting business. At adulting actually, truth be told. I am supposedly 33 years old. That is old, I know (I have no clue how I got here)! I remember things from back when I was 9, and 16, and 21, and 25 and all the years in between, and it truly feels just like the other day.

I have always been just a daughter. This Mother thing, I don’t know, hey. When I was still just a daughter, Mothers always seemed so in charge. All of them knew how to act, how to dress, knew everything – wonderful human beings, really. Mothers.

Me? I don’t fit that picture. I find it tough, I really do. I can’t be bothered to wear make-up. HairSTYLE? Nope. Tying it up in a bun is all I can manage at this stage. I get distressed when you’re suddenly jumping around on the couch – freaking out that you will hit your head. Sometimes you scream really loudly (for no particular reason), and my head hurts, and I lose my cool. I’m not very good with loud noises and bangs and such. I ask you to stop, and you find it hilarious, sensing my growing despair. And then I am not very nice, no.

When I get home from work, I am mostly tired, and a bit irritated (public transport is a real schlep, for various reasons which I won’t go into now, I’ll try and keep you from that horror for as long as possible). And although I am super elated to see you, it does irk me when you randomly hit me in the face. And harass me – like pulling my hair, grabbing everything you can possibly reach, making a go at my cup of tea (you’ll burn yourself!), stealing my pen (you might poke your eye out!), jumping on the couch (and the rollercoaster starts again). I am really sorry about that. For losing my cool. For not magically knowing everything.

I make time to read up about it, about everything. That’s how I learned it is normal behaviour for a toddler to be a hitting Hettie at this stage (thank goodness for that, as I’ve started doubting your sensibilities, sorry about that). Dinner. Oh man. Sorry for not providing you with lovely nutritious meals every night of the week. I would love to, though. I really would. But I’ve never been one for cooking. I get my moments, cooking up a storm. And then it is as if I have to recover from all of that for about two days. So the next day? Leftovers. The day after that? Some fruit cut up. Ok wait, who am I fooling? It’s two minute noodles, gasp! Reading stories at bed-time. I love stories and books, and story-telling, I think it might be my favourite thing in the world.

So I try and read you a story. But you don’t really listen (I don’t blame you, because, honestly, you’re 19 and a half months old) – you just grab the book out of my hands. And I’m like, ok, let’s look at the pictures, yes. Yes, a balloon (‘salloon’ you call it)! And what is this? A cat! Meeoowwww!

And then you grab it even more and you make that book fly like a jet plane through the air. That’s the end of that. You jump up and leap forward to the edge of the bed and shriek with laughter as I shriek with despair. You see, when you were a baby still, you did fall off the bed once. And I nearly died. Because I thought you nearly died. And once, when you were a baby still, you fell of the couch, bang on your head, and I freaked out in a hysterical fashion as I thought your neck must’ve snapped. You were crying so loudly, and I was crying, as I took you in my arms, holding you tight, trying to comfort you. In the end you were ok, though, both times. Just a bump on the head. But those feelings of terror, playing out in slow-motion – I won’t ever forget those feelings in my BONES. Bath-time.

So sorry for not bathing you diligently every night like my mother did. Some evenings I’m thinking it’s so cold, and you are so warm, and you’re not really dirty. I’ll just give you a quick wipe. I know I SHOULD bathe you properly. But alas. Sometimes I just want to lie with you in bed, holding you close. Not going through the drama of having to tie up your hair (so that you don’t get sick, because your hair is very long already for a 20 month old toddler, seriously, that hair) which you really hate and inform me of this fact every time I try to tie it up – in my least favourite way of being told things – SCREAMING. So loooooud. Rounded off by a few punches to my general direction. Nah, some nights I am just skipping those and cuddle with you on the bed and listen to you talk in your own Leja language which I can, strangely enough, understand most of. I am sorry for being such a terrible parent for not having you sleep in your own cot in our room. Or even in your own bed in your own room. No. No, you sleep by us. Between mommy and daddy, where you can feel safe. Where you can know you can sleep softly, as this is the safest place in the whole wide world. I know I might be setting you up for failure later on.

This approach differs from what one is supposed to do. Teaching young toddlers to sleep in their own beds. My thought is just – you will go start sleeping in your own bed once you feel like sleeping in your own bed. For all this, and more, I apologise. I apologise that I am not that glowing picture of motherhood. With a permanent smile on her face. For not knowing what to do in any given difficult situation, and then stressing about it. I am trying to get better at it. I hope to be able to get all my ducks in a row one of these days, soon, I promise. Teaching you songs, sitting down and scrabble with crayons, creating masterpieces with you, my darling little girl. Where in-between I give you healthy fruit snacks. And we play, and roll about on the carpet. And I teach you awesome things. Like hand-puppet games. Or folding a piece of paper, and turning it into a swan, or such. magic. The only thing I am sure of, the only clarity and guarantee I have, in this crazy perfect storm that is first-time parenting (of a toddler), is that I love you with everything inside me. And my inside feels as huge as the whole earth, my love for you fills the whole earth. And although I suck at the adulting mommy thing, I hope to get better with it. And I can promise you, we will have amazing chats once I am calm and you are getting older. I promise to always listen to you, to take in the smell of your hair, the klokkies in your voice, your shiny eyes. - Jana Cloete