"I am a 36 yr old WAHM to two girls, 4 and 18 months. I blog, I write, I do bits and bobs of part-time work, all scheduled around spending as much time with my kids as I can. We live in a densely-populated urban area of Cape Town, in a 100+ year old house continually in various stages of renovation.
I didn’t ever really think I’d be a (semi) stay at home Mum, but here I am, and for the most part I love it."
Parenting and Cape Town
My blog is about parenting and Cape Town, not so much parenting IN Cape Town, but parenting AND Cape Town.
Reason being that I kind of feel the same about both: continual dichotomy.
The Beauty.
Looking at my girls, hearing their belly laughs, seeing them interact with each other, with their Dad, their family, feeling their small bodies against mine, smelling their skin.
Staring at our mountain, hearing the hadeda birds, the call to mosque, seeing the colour in our city, feeling the vibe of many cultures, the grass underfoot, smelling the sea, the food, the salty fogs which roll in at dawn.
The Fear.
Of nurturing two lives, forming two personalities, equipping them with all that they’ll need to tackle the complexities of life in this world.
Of living in a volatile society, forming the right opinions and acting on them. The fear of seen and unseen threats, fear for the future.
The Freedom.
Of having so much time with my children. So many unscheduled afternoons, so many moments free to play, to cuddle, to chat.
Of open spaces – beaches, forest, mountain. The proximity to so many beautiful places, so many free and easy cultural experiences.
The Guilt.
Of being distracted when they want me all to themselves. Of burdening them with my frustrations, or the by-products of those frustrations. The guilt of the privilege of having all this time with them, and that not always being enough to make me happy.
Of being privileged. White. Middle-class. Belly full. Supported. The guilt of that not always being enough to make me happy living here.
The Humour.
Of raising two girls who laugh easily. Who don’t take themselves too seriously and teach me not to do the same.
Of a city, a country, which has learned to laugh at itself, at each other. Laugh with a fond recognition of our differences, our challenges.
The Sadness.
Of my girls not having the freedom of movement I had as a child. The naivety I had. That they are, too young I think, exposed to homelessness, poverty, crime, desperation.
That the homeless, the poor, the victims, the desperate live so close to all this beauty, yet feel so little of it in their lives. That there is only so much we can do to help.
Living in Cape Town, a city, exposes me every day to the dichotomies of life, the joys and the heartbreak. One moment I’m buoyed by morning light on the mountain, the good news story in our local paper, the flower-seller singing as he rides his bike down our road. The next I’m broken by the news of an armed-mugging in our neighbourhood, by the small boys asking for bread at the gate, by the next big corruption scandal hitting the headlines.
Parenting, raising children, takes me on the same roller-coaster. One moment my heart is singing watching my eldest ‘read’ a story to her little sister, making a play-dough zoo, dancing in the living room to the Black-Eyed Peas. The next they’re both crying, hanging on to my legs, they won’t eat the supper I’ve raced around to prepare, one’s got a stinky nappy and the other a stinky attitude and I just want to die.
Who knew a happy medium would ever sound so attractive? And, I guess, so boring.
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