Dear Baby A, lately, I haven’t been a very good mama to you. You and I are on holiday together, visiting your grandparents, and instead of making sure that you enjoy every moment of the rare experience, I find myself losing patience with you more often than not. Maybe it’s the rigours of fasting?
The constant thirst and pounding headaches that bind my temper to such a short leash? The fact that you’re still waking up countless times, night after night? Or that the mornings seem to arrive so quickly after a long, exhausting, sleepless night?
Perhaps I’m missing your father, who carries the burden of parenting with me. You and I are alone for long hours during the day, because both your grandparents are at work, six days a week. When they come home, I like to let them steal a few moments of rest, because they, too, are suffering sleepless nights.
Their nights, however, are spent in prayer and supplication in reverence to the Holy Month. My nights, in contrast, are spent soothing you. You’d think I’d have settled down to the rhythm of interrupted sleep. Going it alone, however, is so much harder than having the option of dumping you on your father every once in a while.
You’re so silly most of the time, giggling and walking around with a basket on your head, calling it your hat. You like to pretend any platter in your Nana’s house is a bowl of water, and you “splash” everyone around you. You gather all your princesses together in their makeshift carriage, say “Bye bye” to all of us, and head to the front door, babbling to yourself. Usually, I’m right there with you, engaged in pretend play. I’m so sorry for the times I didn’t smile at you when you were looking for me to. I’m sorry for the days I used harsh words with you: stop, enough, later, go play inside, go away, go.
I’m sorry I didn’t pick you up when you started sobbing because I wouldn’t let you go outside and splash in puddles and catch the bees that you’re always chasing; I had a headache that day and just wanted to lie on the couch and watch my TV show. I’m sorry that I cried so much when you accidentally hit me with the side of your book; I’ve been a selfish mess, and I’ve been trying to do my best, but my best has been really lacking these days. When you spit out a bite of your banana or refuse to open your mouth and just taste your lunch, or throw your water bottle in defiance, or insist on covering every free surface with stickers, I end up having a breakdown.
I’m sorry that sometimes I look forward to your nap time so much more than I look forward to our play time together. If it’s any consolation, I still always miss you when you nap.
I so want you to be headstrong, strong-willed, independent, opinionated – all the characteristics that I already see shining in you. But sometimes I wish I could have you be all those things in the outside world, rather than when I’m raising you.
Tomorrow, I’ll do better. I’ll try harder. I’ll take deep breaths and inject gentleness into my tone, and wait until you pull away from our hugs and cuddles first.
Love, Mama.
Hala Khalaf is a freelance writer based in Abu Dhabi