Last week we went to Paris with our eldest. It was to celebrate her 10th birthday and therefore 10 whole years of parenting. Nearly a quarter of my entire life!
We ticked off her check-list of Eiffel Tower at dusk (complete with sparkly light show), Sacre Coeur and its stunning vistas, the Louvre and its modernist pyramid, Notre Dame underneath all of its scaffolding, the Palais-Royal with its stripey pillars (in short, all my favourite haunts from my Sorbonne days), LOADS of walking and a visit to the rococo splendour of the Opera Garnier which serendipitously turned into a revisit for that evening’s dance production which was – frankly – mesmerising (and bowled my newly double-digit dance aficionado over as much as it did her modern-dance neophyte father).
The trip was to mark this important transition into decade-dom with an exclusive two days of mummy/daddy time - just like the old days - and to celebrate having just about got through with the small but wonderful human being who started it all.
Which was both lovely AND weird because it hadn’t happened since she was 21 months old and her sister had made her appearance.
Lovely because it was, on the whole, so damn easy - no conflict management, no sibling rivalry, just one dynamic and lots of space and time to indulge it. (Although it wasn’t easy back then, of course. Jeepers. How life changes when another human is suddenly under your sole, irresponsible-but-learning-quickly care)!
And weird because I noticed how it changed the way in which I parent.
I definitely didn’t miss the constant low (high) level stress that comes with shepherding three small people around. And seeing others doing it whilst we only temporarily had one under our care, reminded me of how manic it usually feels.
But being accompanied by just one child - for the first time ever since she was a tiny baby - made me realise that we both (perhaps unfairly) expected more of her when she was by herself than we would have done if she had been accompanied by her merry troupe. ⠀
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Like spending hours pounding the streets of Paris for example, just assuming that she had the same strength and stamina (and inclination) as her parents, despite her protestations. Or was it because there was only one complaining rather than three and as any self-respecting parent knows, two against one always wins? ⠀
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Whilst at the same time, I found myself ‘caring’ for her more over the two days that we spent away than I usually do when she takes up her role as eldest of her clan (when I feel I need to focus more on the littlest). Like cutting up her food (?!) giving her way more cuddles because there was no-one there to compete for them, and carrying her bag even though it wasn’t heavy. ⠀
So paradoxically, having only one child around made me into a MORE attentive but also LESS sensitive parent.
And because having one is almost like having none in terms of how relaxed I feel as a partner rather than parent, it actually (dare I admit it?) felt a little more frustrating: so near to full relaxation and yet so far!
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Our threesome also changed the way in which my daughter saw herself.
Because after 48 hours of pure, unadulterated (pun intended) mummy and daddy time, she had significantly changed her tune. She had decided that actually she didn’t crave being an only child and that 2 days with grown-ups was plenty enough. ⠀
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In other words (although these would never actually pass her lips) she MISSED her siblings (back at home with grandma).
It wasn’t long of course until we were reunited as an exuberant band of five. The kids started squabbling almost immediately and I felt almost immediately overwhelmed. Business as usual then.
But I’m grateful for the short hiatus during which I was able to ponder (as my daughter clearly did too) the nature of parenting and how it shapes my identity in more fluid ways than I thought.
What do you think, mamas? How does looking after less or more of your usual brood change how you feel and how you interact with them?
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