Emily is Ten Years Old

Argh! 

How is this possible?
That an entire DECADE has passed since I first waddled out of the hospital, all doughy in my middle, carrying this tiny, tiny baby who would change my life forever?

I have been A Mother for ten years.
Ten. Years.

Funnily, I don't feel like I'm a better mom today than way back then, when I'd have moved heaven and earth to respond to this child's smallest whimper. These days, I'm more like, "What? You got a cut? There're band-aids in the bathroom. You know where they are. And shut the drawer. Last time you forgot."

Well. Emily is ten today. And in lieu of a Birthday Post, I wrote her some verse. I cannot wrap my mind around the idea of me being somebody's (okay three somebodies') mother. And even more than that, I cannot fathom how I've been doing that for this long, and it feels like only nanoseconds have passed since I first met her.

A little girl was born this day,

Ten years ago, and far away,

To parents so excited they

Could scarce believe their eyes.

They captured every waking pose,

From toothless smile to wrinkled nose,

With nibbles of her salty toes,

They giggled and they sighed.

They chased her as she learned to crawl

And scooted forth from wall to wall;

She rose on shaky feet, to fall

In safe, awaiting arms.

Then Ball! And Baby! Cat! And Bird!

She found her voice in bubbly word,

Each syllable her listeners heard,  

Held captive to her charms.

Then climb and jump and ride and run

Like circus acts in snow and sun -

All her milestones, one by one,

She mastered as she grew.

And over time, they did behold,

Her personality unfold-

Storm and sunshine, bright and bold,

All beautiful and new.

Write a story, sing a tune,

Craft away an afternoon,

Growing older all too soon,

As years go dancing by.

Then into school and swimming teams,

Rings and bars and balance beams,

Friendships bursting at the seams,

She spread her wings to fly.

Now soaring still, our daughter be,

So much of life ahead to see

And claim with everything that she

Believes is hers to earn.

And as she runs on winged feet

From burrow to uncharted street,

Her angels go before to meet

Her life at every turn.

For this beloved September child 

With laughing eyes and sweetest smile

Is ever cherished all this while

(’tis longer than it seems).

No memories of anxious thought,

Those early sleepless nights as naught;

We only know the joy she’s brought

Exceeds our wildest dreams.

Happy birthday, sweet Emily! We love you so much!

Slightly More Serious Verse

Last one!

I don't remember whom I wrote this for - could very well be for myself. I also don't remember why (i.e. during which exact "difficult period in my life") I wrote it.

Jesus poem
Jan 1 2004

In all the toil that lies ahead


May Jesus be your rest


And for your striving, peace instead


Your weariness arrest.



In all the friendships you hold dear


May Jesus be your love


His mercy and His presence near


His company your trove.



In all decisions you would make


May Jesus be your guide


And all your anxious thoughts forsake


His counsel to confide.



In all your service - noble, weak -


May Jesus be your joy


In His anointing, humble, meek


True calling His employ.



In all you treasure, known and hid


And long for, great and small


Know in your haste, its coming bid,


That Jesus is your all. 


Limericks

Two limericks about stress. The first is about my work in a government agency which shall not be named. I learned a lot in that job, but it was sadly a poor fit for me, in terms of work values and interests.

A woman at work in despair -


So bored did degenerate there


Years later they found


Her hair reached the ground


And she, petrified in her chair.

The second is about my then-regular occurrences of canker sores (we called them "ulcers" in Singapore). Now I know they were probably caused by using toothpaste that was too strong, but then we attributed them to being "heaty" and stressed and blamed the weather and our jobs. Bonjela was the brand of a popular ointment for canker sores.

A girl with an ulcer from hell


Slathered on Bonjela gel


By Day Six she found


Her tongue on the ground -


Which mocked her from wherein it fell.

Rhymes

While digging through my computer archives tonight, I found a folder labeled "Scribblings". Inside were things I'd written some years back, and that I'd forgotten all about. I must have penned them during "difficult periods" of my life, but they don't count as poetry, since... well, you can see for yourself. I clearly didn't take them seriously, and it was fun to read them again tonight and remember the situations that led me to write them.

I wrote this first piece in response to my bout of prenatal carpal-tunnel syndrome in 2004/2005. I was pregnant with Emily at the time, and for the first few hours after waking each morning, I could not use my right arm at all. It was by no means life-threatening (except, perhaps, while driving to work), but it was frustrating and uncomfortable and thus counted as a "difficult period in my life". I am perplexed at why I chose to define "limb" as "hand" in this instance, but, hey, it's daft enough as is without a critical analysis.

O Useless Limb by Lier



O useless limb that dangleth from


The arm on my right side


What purpose dost thou serve except


To wakest me at night?



O useless limb that cannot hold


A fork or knife or spoon


Could thou my retribution be


For glutt'ny - none too soon!



O useless limb that cramps whene'er


I try to hook a bra -


Or bathe, or groom - alas,


Was I too vain thus far?



O useless limb that tingles when


I type or write or bind*-


It must be that I've worked too hard


And should mayhap resign?
(please, please, please)



O useless limb that cannot steer


My car - could this be sign


That I've been lazy- I should walk!


Should run! Should trek! Should climb?



Alas, the purpose of this trial


Has suddenly come plain -


I'm gluttonous and indolent,


Distracted, and I'm vain!


* I don't know what I needed to "bind" - I am guessing possibly reports - it was one of the menial tasks in my job, along with sharpening pencils, smiling, serving tea to VIPs and holding elevator doors open for members of parliament.

Told you it was daft!

I wish I still had some of the even earlier verses I'd written - but they were on 3.5" diskettes which became all mouldy and defunct in Singapore's lovely humidity. One of my favourite rhymes was called Manny The Manhole Cover. It was about a disgruntled manhole cover, tired of being walked all over by humanity, who rolled away to seek out greener pastures, leaving a trail of destruction and mayhem in its wake. A good friend who was then working in an editorial company, suggested that, I someday write children's books. I was in my twenties, had no children, and thus no inkling of what children's books were really like. I wrote Manny because I thought it was what I would've liked to read as a child myself. Now that I actually have children, I wish I still had it - I'm sure Emily, Jenna and Kate would've found it very suitable reading. And no, it was never published.

For more daft (and illustrated) verse, see this silly one I wrote on the craft blog. The "difficult period in my life" in that case, was having our house invaded by Hello Kitties.