Lately I have been plagued with a thought that scares me: what If I don't like my kids as they get older?
I love and adore them right now, and the icing on the cake is the added cuteness of their age, Iman being six months, Noor being 2 years old. I realize now that this is the age I LOVE. I cannot imagine a day without their endless (and in Iman's case, toothless) smiles and unconditional love. The tears at the drop of a hat, followed by incessant laughter and giggles. Most of all what I enjoy is their interaction with each other, watching them in complete adoration of one another. I am not looking forward to the day they fight over each other's clothes.
Recently at a gathering, certain friends were saying how they were glad to be done with diapers, baby food, and strollers. But I LOVE this stuff. I revel in it. I cannot imagine a time when it all becomes obsolete. I still have not even thrown away Noor's old pacifiers, not that I am reusing them or anything. I won't part with these teeny, tiny baby blankets, even though Iman rolls around so much they are useless. And I can't stop buying baby clothes. Even though there is literally nowhere to put any more clothes.
My dear friend M.Y. told me her husband always wants more children because he loves the infant age so much. I never understood that. Until now.
So mothers with older children, I ask you, does a mother's love ever run out? Or does it morph and continue to grow with your child?
Showing posts with label Noor. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Noor. Show all posts
Thursday, July 26, 2012
Monday, January 9, 2012
The final countdown
Somehow, by the mercy of Allah nearly ten months have passed, and I am possibly days, or less than two weeks from my due date. I am anxious to know more about and meet my second child.
The past few months have been uneventful, and for once I am grateful for that, Alhamdulilah. Of course barring the birth of my beautiful nephew, Hamza, not much else has happened.
Except that every morning I wake up with a different toddler. Every morning, Noor, who is nearing two years old, does/says/learns something new. And while I bask in the beauty of her rapid growth, I feel sadness underneath and miss the Noor from the day before. She is growing up entirely too fast. Should I listen to my sisters, and record every cute thing she says and does? If I do will I miss out what is happening in front of me? Forget wielding a camera, even if I blink I know I've fallen behind.
I fear I have already missed too much.
The past few months have been uneventful, and for once I am grateful for that, Alhamdulilah. Of course barring the birth of my beautiful nephew, Hamza, not much else has happened.
Except that every morning I wake up with a different toddler. Every morning, Noor, who is nearing two years old, does/says/learns something new. And while I bask in the beauty of her rapid growth, I feel sadness underneath and miss the Noor from the day before. She is growing up entirely too fast. Should I listen to my sisters, and record every cute thing she says and does? If I do will I miss out what is happening in front of me? Forget wielding a camera, even if I blink I know I've fallen behind.
I fear I have already missed too much.
Monday, September 26, 2011
The one about the book
I vaguely remember when I had started this blog wanting to do book reviews. I am not sure when I forgot about doing that, but here goes another try at it. The other day I was hit with the realization that I have not read a book, a real book, meant for my age group and without pictures or pop-up characters, in nearly two years. At least this was an easy fix, or so I thought.
Often my eighteen month old and I fight over the use of the laptop, ipad or even my cell phone. Naturally I assumed it was because kids love screens. I hate that she wants these things so I try to limit my use around her. A book would be different, right? Wrong! Every time I sat down with my first book in two years, Noor would run over, say "I want book", taking my book to the nearest sofa and plop down to read with the book in her lap. As frustrating as it was, I must admit I was proud of her.
On Saturday we took a family trip to the local library. I recently received many book recommendations from a few friends, via facebook, so I had decided to work my way down the list. The first book was "Mornings in Jenin," by Susan Abulhawa. Fiction, which is usually what I prefer to read.
Despite the battle over the book with my toddler, I was able to read it here and there and within 24 hours I got through its' 325 pages. In truth I had trouble putting it down or thinking of anything else until I got through it. I had forgotten how time consuming reading can be when you are someone like me who has the need to know how it ends.
I started off reading the book like it was any other piece of fiction. I was immediately drawn to and immersed in the lives of the characters, spanning several generations of a Palestine family from the 1940's and onwards. I planted myself on their farm, in their home, gathering their harvest by their side.
Then in 1948, the Israeli regime began threatening their homes, their lives, their livelihoods. I was engrossed in the world of guns, violence and the fear that they lived in, interspersed with happy moments, a marriage, a child being born. As I kept reading I was unable to remind myself that I was not in Palestine with them.
Halfway into the book it hit me hard. I really was not in their world. I looked around me, suddenly thrust into my reality, four sturdy walls, a soft bed, a ceiling not ridden with holes, listening to the sound of crickets chirping outside my windows, not bulldozers or guns.
And the it REALLY hit me. This was NOT fiction. These were characters based on real people in real situations. How could I have been so numb, so stupid, as to forget that I was not just reading a piece of fiction, I was in fact reading history. The realization was heartbreaking. When I hear or see the news of Palestine in the media, I am sad for them, but watching these characters who I had placed myself next to go through the actual events put everything in a different light. I could not be the same person after reading this book.
Often my eighteen month old and I fight over the use of the laptop, ipad or even my cell phone. Naturally I assumed it was because kids love screens. I hate that she wants these things so I try to limit my use around her. A book would be different, right? Wrong! Every time I sat down with my first book in two years, Noor would run over, say "I want book", taking my book to the nearest sofa and plop down to read with the book in her lap. As frustrating as it was, I must admit I was proud of her.
On Saturday we took a family trip to the local library. I recently received many book recommendations from a few friends, via facebook, so I had decided to work my way down the list. The first book was "Mornings in Jenin," by Susan Abulhawa. Fiction, which is usually what I prefer to read.
Despite the battle over the book with my toddler, I was able to read it here and there and within 24 hours I got through its' 325 pages. In truth I had trouble putting it down or thinking of anything else until I got through it. I had forgotten how time consuming reading can be when you are someone like me who has the need to know how it ends.
I started off reading the book like it was any other piece of fiction. I was immediately drawn to and immersed in the lives of the characters, spanning several generations of a Palestine family from the 1940's and onwards. I planted myself on their farm, in their home, gathering their harvest by their side.
Then in 1948, the Israeli regime began threatening their homes, their lives, their livelihoods. I was engrossed in the world of guns, violence and the fear that they lived in, interspersed with happy moments, a marriage, a child being born. As I kept reading I was unable to remind myself that I was not in Palestine with them.
Halfway into the book it hit me hard. I really was not in their world. I looked around me, suddenly thrust into my reality, four sturdy walls, a soft bed, a ceiling not ridden with holes, listening to the sound of crickets chirping outside my windows, not bulldozers or guns.
And the it REALLY hit me. This was NOT fiction. These were characters based on real people in real situations. How could I have been so numb, so stupid, as to forget that I was not just reading a piece of fiction, I was in fact reading history. The realization was heartbreaking. When I hear or see the news of Palestine in the media, I am sad for them, but watching these characters who I had placed myself next to go through the actual events put everything in a different light. I could not be the same person after reading this book.
Tuesday, March 29, 2011
My weight loss secret
Believe it or not I weigh less now than I a little over a year ago. My amazing diet secret is...are you ready for this?... my daughter.
I knew children can be challenging, albeit rewarding, sometimes drive you up the wall, and generally cause your hair to turn gray. But someone should have told me about this very positive side affect. Hearing about how much energy they take, and experiencing it for myself are two entirely different things. My daughter Noor is absolutely non-stop, around the clock ball of fun, wanting constant play and interaction. I find her need for play most rewardng for those of us who love her the most. She loves us back and shows it in her constant smile and laughter. May Allah always keep her smiling.
But I must admit, it it hard for me to remain grateful for this, especially around 4 pm, when my back hurts, and my eyes are getting droopy, and Noor is (of course) full speed ahead. It's time for me to push myself to keep going. Just as if I'm on a treadmill. But weight loss is not my motivation, really. It's that big smile, with those two tiny teeth proudly on display.
I knew children can be challenging, albeit rewarding, sometimes drive you up the wall, and generally cause your hair to turn gray. But someone should have told me about this very positive side affect. Hearing about how much energy they take, and experiencing it for myself are two entirely different things. My daughter Noor is absolutely non-stop, around the clock ball of fun, wanting constant play and interaction. I find her need for play most rewardng for those of us who love her the most. She loves us back and shows it in her constant smile and laughter. May Allah always keep her smiling.
But I must admit, it it hard for me to remain grateful for this, especially around 4 pm, when my back hurts, and my eyes are getting droopy, and Noor is (of course) full speed ahead. It's time for me to push myself to keep going. Just as if I'm on a treadmill. But weight loss is not my motivation, really. It's that big smile, with those two tiny teeth proudly on display.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)