Chapters

Tetyana Denford - 19 Jul 16

The other day I read a really great article about how rubbish the phrase “make the most of every moment” is, when it comes to parenting. I can relate. Sometimes, there are groups of mothers (and in-laws, and friends) who tell you that instead of grinding your teeth and hissing at your kids to stop leaving their freshly-stained pants in the middle of the kitchen floor, that you should be basking in the wonder of them wanting to walk stark naked out of the front door and announce that they’re going to the park. 

They’re only little for so long. You’ll miss it one day.

Truth be told, I relate to both schools of thought. There are days where I can’t wait for them to stop rubbing glitter into my hair or coughing on my sandwich. But equally, there are days where I’m heartbroken in the realisation that my youngest child’s face has lengthened and is no longer round and babyish, and that she no longer says things like “look at that big cock!” (truck).

This is why I find solace in writing. It opens the door into my thoughts and memories, buried deep underneath layers of self-judgement, confusion and frustration.

When I write, I can revisit chapters of their lives with breathless efficiency. I’ve kept diaries of their early years, each of them, from their birth stories, to their eating habits and behaviours, to when they walked, what words they said first, and what their skin smelled like fresh out of the shower. 

Some day, I hope that they’ll keep these little musings as a record of how magic their little lives were, and remember me when I’m no longer around to micromanage them. These are my words, about me, about them, about life…for them, ultimately. 

There are days where I revisit my own words solely because of guilt, to remind myself that I did  actually do a decent job at mothering even though all I remember were the eye-rolls, shouts and threats of early bedtimes.

There are days when the passing of time excites me, but there are many days where the passing of time catches me off guard and feels like a punch to my core, folding my body in half in the realisation that time passes too quickly and I’m helpless to slow it down.

There are days when I don’t even have 5 minutes to wash my underarms at the sink (my husband calls it a “tart shower”), and there are days where I have a luxurious 5 minutes to rediscover all my saved pregnancy tests (Yes, I dated them. Yes, I’m nostalgic. They still give me that rush of excitement, and take me back to those initial panicky, euphoric sparks).

There are days where I am so incredibly frustrated because all I want to do is sit at my desk and write, and then I realise that in order to do that, I have to bank the memories that are being made right in front of me. I have to participate, in order to be creative. So I stop. And I try and lean in. I’m not always great at it, but I try and find the balance.

My life is lived through words and lyrics, sometimes.Parenthood and motherhood is very conducive to that, for me. The words that I write exist in between moments, they capture the unknowns, the silences, the thoughts that I never say out loud that I wish I could sometimes (and sometimes it reminds me to say the important things out loud too). It reminds me that there is magic being made and that I *am* a part of it. It reminds me how to use my voice, how to use words in important ways.

It’s easy for me to say the obvious things when it comes to parenthood, motherhood, womanhood. The “oh, I really don’t want to cook tonight”, and the “goddamn it, I have a grey hairs down *there*. Awesome.” What I don’t know how to say very eloquently out loud, though, is what the moments I experience “feel” like; how I feel about my version of motherhood, how I feel about the judgemental mummy groups, how I feel about the magic in my children’s spirits, how I feel about living 4,000 miles away from my parents, how I feel about marriage and partnership, how I feel about losing my identity (temporarily) at 40 and finding the root of my happiness, how I feel about wanting more children. So, I write. And as a result, I discover parts of my brain and my life and my creativity that I want to magnify, to remember one day when I have blue hair, my grown children keep hiding my cane, and can’t remember the name of my 4th husband. 

Everyone has stories within. For me, writing is my salve, my truth, my freak flag, my strength, my inspiration, my journal, my memories of a life lived honestly. It’s the way I can feed my own voice in and amongst so many others on this planet and belong to the collective ether swirling around us. Writing is the way I reach me, now, and how my voice will reach them, someday. 

Tetyana Denford

Tetyana is a Ukrainian-American mum of three, married to an Englishman, living in NY. She's written for Elle and Vogue magazines, and her first novel 'Motherland' is available at Amazon. She hosts a YouTube show called The Craft and Business of Books, translates for Frontline PBS news, and writes freelance.

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