People warned me about terrible twos and tantrums, but nobody warned me about the shame department children come with. No one told me that children get embarrassed. No. They all concentrated on whether Skylar was growing well and whether she lacked anything. Skylar had a super support system.
Then Skylar started talking, became aware of her environment, joined school… and that’s when she discovered there’s something called embarrassing moments.
Let me highlight a few times she almost disowned me in public:
There was a day she wanted to talk to her father. I don’t even remember her age. We called the man twice, no answer. When he finally called back, Skylar was really pressed. She told me to tell him she’ll call again. Me, in my innocence, I assumed she had walked far, so I said, “Call after some minutes. Skylar has gone to poop.”
Waaah. That one finished her!
Skylar came back from the toilet angry like a lawyer filing a case. She told me not to connect her to her father again. To her, her father must NEVER know that she poops like a normal human being. I had to text him and instruct him on what to say like I was doing witness coaching before a court hearing. I apologized over 30 times like a husband caught having a secret affair.
Skylar also believed that anyone above Grade 6 is an adult. Old age started from 16 for her. One day in the salon we were talking about our baby daddies and I casually mentioned that her dad was 29. She didn’t react. She waited for the walk home. Then she calmly asked to call him. When he picked, she said, “Mama speaks ill of you. She told people you are 29 and she wants people to think you are old. I am embarrassed.” I had to explain that 29 is not old, some men are in their 40s with kids younger than her. She still insisted I ruined her father’s reputation.
Another time in the salon (the salon is where all my crimes happen), there was a small baby there who kept calling Skylar “baby.” To make the name stick, I also called Skylar “baby” like three times.
I tell you, this child cried like we had called her “grandmother.”
We checked everything — no fever, no tight braids — nothing. She refused to talk until we were done. Then she told me she cried because I embarrassed her by calling her “baby” in public. Imagine. The word “baby” was her downfall that day.
Another day in the market I saw nice bras. I always try bras before buying them. So I tried one. Skylar didn’t say anything. She only asked me to hurry because she was hungry. When we reached home, that child reported me like a CID officer:
“Mama has no manners. She wore a bra in public. She doesn’t know her chest is a private part. I was very embarrassed. I think she was never taught about private parts.”
She addressed me like she was addressing a Parliament ethics committee.
And then the supermarket incident. We were in the queue, and a woman whispered to me, “I’ve seen Skylar since she was a toddler, she’s growing tall so fast.” I smiled and said, “She’ll be taller than me. Luckily she can’t be tall like my father.”
Skylar didn’t say anything. She waited until we left the supermarket. Then she faced me and said:
“So you are telling people I’ll grow tall like men? Are you not embarrassed talking like that?”
At this point I’ve realized my child didn’t come to this world to just grow, she came with a brand strategy, a public relations department, and a full-time image consultant in her head. I’m just the mother. My job is to fund the project, sign apologies, and avoid saying anything that might destroy her public image in front of strangers. If motherhood had an HR desk, I’d be the employee on probation for public misconduct.