Accepting Baby Slaps


It IS my last spoonful. I promise this to myself every time I venture back into the deliciously smooth chocolate spread. It's 10am and I have eaten half of the jar. I feel bad. I look down and check that I can still see my toes. I'm not sure that I can. I wobble back and forth and then my son starts crying again so I dismiss my search. I decide to head back into the kitchen. Oh, I haven't actually left yet. I scoop out another spoonful.

Diego is a year old already. Time is flying. It feels like only yesterday I held my newborn in my arms. So tiny. So quiet. Today I'm wrestling with my active crawler. Sometimes I'm brushing off stranger's frowns as my baby practices using his vocal chords to their max. I am learning to accept that a slap in the face is, apparently, hysterically hilarious. So of course, I am receiving these on a daily basis too. Who ever knew that clapping hands made the same incredible sound as slapping mummy across the face? Oh, Diego does.

I made the decision to be a working, studying mother. Plus, a never sleeping zombie-parent, (but that came later, with little choice). Three years ago I began university. It taught me one main lesson. Humans can handle anything. If you want to do it, you will. Success is in the mind. I decided to juggle university and parenting. It was hard. I wanted to leave. But I also wanted that qualification.
This year I graduated.

Humans are invincible. How I survived the latest television remote to my temple toddler-wannabe attack is proof of that. But so is my beautiful baby, and second class university degree. Giving it a go is only the beginning.


Boneata Bell
As seen in VOXX Magazine, 2015.

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