The Talkaholic....

...nope,I ain`t waffling about myself, probably much to the mirth of my intimate friends and family. I adore and worship my kids.  I love everything about my son, Batboy, from  the lazy side grin he flashes when he thinks his Mummy is cool, as only a six year old still can,  to the way he deftly harvests nasal residue,rolls it into a ball and flicks it at offending mosquitoes.  All in under a couple of seconds flat. Yeah, I live for my kids but just recently, one inherited family trait has been driving me to distraction.  I can talk. It has been said that I like the sound of my own voice but I must direly dissent.  I merely feel that life is way too short to engage all of those fascinating folk out there in dissemination.  It`s not that I have a lot to say, just a lot to ask.  All that humanity, all those tapestries, works in progress to be contemplated, absorbed, hopefully to be gleaned  from.  So,...I feel it is my duty to foster an atmosphere where `chatter` is welcome.  However,I am  woebegone to say, I`ve found myself banging my much beleaguered loaf against something solid to alleviate the pressure I feel building.  Batboy never...ever shuts up.  Five am strikes with as much subtlety as an elephant who has spent the previous evening gulping down Vindaloos, letting loose directly onto your face.  Batboy slivers into my bed and opens up with a one sided homily on a certain train line in Tokyo, as I lie, half comatose with an indifferent BoobySlayer attached to one nip nip.  After a short interval, if no reaction is received from my side, prods and pokes in my nasal area are guaranteed.  Grudgingly, I arise and so the day continues, one enduring, constant dialogue from Batboy on trains and his life plans.  Like a Tonka Toy he rides over everyone and anyone.  I tried distraction. "Go and draw me a picture."  To which he returns later with a incredibly detailed diagram requiring yet more discussion and debate.  I`ve tried reasoning, telling and just plain losing it but...it appears to be a phase my gorgeous Batboy is going through.

What to do? I don`t want him to feel that his own mum is ignoring him or cannot be bothered to listen to all his dreams and aspirations.  It`s against all my nurturing instincts. What if I damage him in some way psychologically.  What if twenty years fromn now, he is found wandering the streets wearing only his mum`s old underwear, perfume and a Sobu Line train cap, wailing "My Mummy never listened to me!"?  But a toll　is being paid on this Mummy`s side too. My efforts to distract, a well worn Mummy tactic known throughout the world has taken on such requisite proportions that I fear it borders on the narcotic.  Only the other day, I heard myself call out in a much affected tone, "Oh look! A train." and this was at a poolside as an infant swirled past in a Thomas the Tank Engine float.  My husband launched into his usual,predictable opening,"Batboy has only been on this planet a mere six years.Try to be a little more patient."  To which I was...very...as I continued to slice the cheese up calmly.  It never ceases to amaze me how naive and totally uninformed the working partner`s comments can be about the stay at home partner`s situation.  Everything is about equations, if you do A then the end result is B, when anyone who has ever done time at home with kids knows, that at times, whatever you do, no matter how much you prepare, total anarchy can still prevail. You are working against forces that defy even nature and some battles just ain`t worth taking on.

"Oh,"wailed hubby upon my return from the office,"Batboy just wouldn`t shut up......I am  sorry.I totally understand now......."Then upon seeing me lovingly arranging the sheet around Batboy`s form."What are you doing? It`s too hot for covers?"  To which I promptly replied,"Oh,I am just looking for a second set of gills on his neck.He needs them to keep up a conversation that long without taking a breath!"  Hubby leans wearily into me and we have a good laugh.....