The Happy-Sad Smile

Are you familiar with the happy-sad smile? You know, the little smile that plays around your mouth when you see or hear something lovely, but falters slightly when your brain registers the bittersweet edge to the moment? And then, to cover the wobble which inevitably occurs in your facial region, you concentrate on bringing back the smile so that no one notices?

Usually, it's easier to recognise a happy-sad smile after the wobble. You can pick it from the extra effort required to maintain full-wattage in the grin; the slightly strained look around the mouth; the way the smile drops out of the eyes.

But people work hard with their happy-sad smiles. Especially mothers. Sometimes, it's only a little thing that makes us wibbly, so maintaining the countenance is not a true hardship. Other times, however, holding a calm outer shell is excruciating. But we do it, because to allow your children to see a chink in the happy armour would upset them.

IAll good mummies know, it's very important to keep a cheerful expression on your face, even if your heart is breaking. Even when the tears are spilling down your face.

I have worked hard at keeping my happy-sad face at bay recently. The reasons for my melancholy are diverse....we shall not visit them here. Rest assured, my children are keeping me occupied enough for twenty mummies. And it is because of them, that I have practised my happy-sad four times today...

Last night, the Mouse coughed and coughed and coughed. The poor little girl sounded like an emphysemic old man. Being under two, there is very little we can give her other than Panadol and cuddles. So this morning, I tried to breastfeed her before breakfast, to see if I could comfort her tickly throat at all. Unfortunately, every time she coughed, she bit me - needless to say, our 'cuddle' lasted all of five minutes.

It did not seem to bother my baby at all. She toddled off after Jack and Phoebe, shouting instructions at them in gibberish, and soon had them playing a game completely of her own design (Not bossy at all for an 18 month old?!) I sat on the couch watching her, marvelling at how grown-up my little string bean is becoming. She kept flashing her pearly whites at me, in between hacking coughs, and lunging at me for 'tuddles'. And my smiling face wobbled slightly, when I thought briefly about her growing independence, and how my last baby was rapidly growing into a little girl.

And then I felt like a bad mother, wishing for the Mouse to stay little, rather than relishing her growth, her confidence, her wonderful, strong little personality. So I plastered the smile back on my face, and went to make breakfast.

Later, I took the two big kids to a playdate while Mousy stayed home in the warm with Daddy. Jack was happy playing with his mates from school (who'd have thought they could survive two whole weeks without each other??), and Phoebalina was in heaven playing with the other little sisters. There were Iron Man games, Buzz costumes, and fairy dresses galore. Kid paradise!

The mums stood in the kitchen, fielding requests for drinks and preventing the smallest children from hurling themselves over the baby gate. The most exciting topic of the day was undoubtedly the imminent arrival of Sue's new baby, due in two days. We took turns rubbing her bump, trying to get the baby to kick, and attempting to guess it's weight. Such an incredibly thrilling time in your life, the days before a birth. I remember feeling as though the air was different. Everything had a hint of sparkle to it.

I would give anything to be able to have another baby. If this makes me selfish, well, then I'm selfish. But the fact that my body is unable to carry another child simply makes me want one even more. So I watched Sue's baby bump today with a smile, which wobbled very slightly when I thought about being pregnant, and how much I enjoyed it. Most likely, Sue saw the wobble. She knows how much I'd love Number Four. My wobble doesn't diminish my joy for her. But it was there, nevertheless.

So I slapped myself mentally, and reminded myself that I have three perfectly presentable children already. It would be greedy to ask for another. It would also be foolhardy to leave my husband to raise four children by himself (!) Besides, I can cuddle Sue's baby, and then in November, my own niece or nephew, and then hand them back to their mummies when they become stinky or unsettled. Happy smile back on face.

Back at home, Jack accompanied me on a doggy walk with Archibald. Being a freezing cold afternoon, we donned hoodies under our winter coats and walked like blimps up our street. I love walking with Jack. He keeps up a little patter of conversation while trotting beside me, about things like how he is going to be a dragon killer when he grows up. Today, a girl went past us wearing short shorts. Like, really short shorts.

Now, last year, Jack went through that phase all small boys go through, in that he would only wear shorts, regardless of the thermometer. Except, he called them "up pants". It followed, naturally, that long trousers were "down pants". You get the gist. It was one of the little things that made him so endearing, and I'll admit I encouraged it shamelessly because it was so darned cute.

Today, that girl went past us, and Jack said, "Mum, why was that girl wearing...um....you know...those pants?" I replied, "Do you mean up pants?" "No," he said, frowning. "No.....oh! Shorts! Why was she wearing shorts?" He was so pleased and proud to have found the correct word he was looking for. And I, oh, I faltered badly. I smiled, pushing harder and harder until it reached my eyes, and said, "That's right, darling! Shorts! Remember you used to call them up pants?"

Inside my head, I was thinking, "Please call them up pants. Please. Otherwise, you're a bit more grown-up. And just a tiny bit further away from me." But I didn't let him see that. How could I, when it would only take the shine off of his growing vocabulary? He wanted me to be proud. He needed me to be proud. So the happy-sad got happy again.

We came home, and brought Archie in from the cold. We sat around the dinner table, eating roast chicken and chatting (or coughing, in the case of the Mouse). Pyjamas were put on, teeth were brushed. A chapter of "The Faraway Tree" was listened to, snuggled on the couch. My brother rang from Queensland, to say goodbye before his big trip overseas, and I listened to my kids chatting sweetly to their big, exciting uncle. And the Mouse cuddled me on the couch, sobbing because she felt so miserable. Eventually, she fed quietly and calmly, until the coughing stopped and she slept deeply in my arms.

There was definitely no happy-sad smile by then. By that point, the smile had reached the eyes, and stayed there.