God save me from nights like this.

We are making no forward progress in sleep training our child. In fact, I think we're making backwards progress. On the once a quarter nights where I go out with a girlfirend, I get the text messages that ask things like "Is the bubble bath safe for him to drink?" and "what if he gets some of the lotion in his mouth?" I also get questions about the proper order of sanitary additions. Do you add the Desitin before or AFTER the powder?, with the following second guessing "are you sure this stuff is safe for babies" thrown in randomly for good measure. If my child is asleep at all when I get home, it's never in a position he normally sleeps in, or in a space where he normally sleeps. I found him standing on his feet, bent over double on the ottoman, sound asleep one night. The TV was on full blast, and he was snoring away. There was the evening he pulled the towel off the towel rack and made himself a bed on the bathroom floor.


Worse than finding him asleep in weird positions is finding him NOT asleep at all, and hours pst his bedtime. He's lying on the bed, sobbing, with the occasional primal scream for good measure. He's covered in snot, all hot and sweaty, and completely inconsolable. I have to pull out the big guns for these instances. I warm up the full repertoire of lullabye songs.... I sing him "Easy People", "In the Hush Before the Heartbreak", "The River Shall Rise", "Baby Mine", "Blackbird", "The Tennessee Waltz", "The Rainbow Connection", "The Wurlitzer Prize", "The Long Day is Over", and even the awful song my mom sang me about a dying child "Put My Little Shoes Away". I sing them over and over - my personal best was A 5 time repeat of the full rep before he sacked out.

Tonight is measuring on par with a night where I was not here to put him to bed, except I was. Last night was equally bad, with a slight deviation, Daddy got home before BabyBoy was soundly asleep. He sat straight up, punched me in the cheek bone and said "NO. DAAAAH-DEEEE". It took nearly two ours of squirming, singing and crying last night.

Tonight is shaping up the same - hubby's upstairs, delaying the inevitable where he enters my circle of hell that is playing the sound track of a screaming baby that I don't know how to help. In the meantime, I'm settling down for round 3 of the Tennessee Waltz.

I'm about ready to bundle him in the car for the 17 mile lap I used to take with him when he was a constantly crying baby with gastric reflux. At least he sleeps in the car.



- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad. Fueled by coffee.

Location:5th circle of hell, aka beside the crib

Are you mom enough?

Dear Time Magazine:

It hasn't been a great week in motherhood for me.  You see, I have a chronic and degenerative disease that impacts my life every day.  Some days, I just deal with the fact that I live in a cocoon of pain, and other days I get lost in it.  This week, I have been devoured by the pain in my own body, and that's not left a lot to give anyone else; this includes my husband, my son, my job, and my own sanity. 

Yesterday, I was scheduled for an intravenous medication infusion to treat this disease.  I fought my way up the stairs, carrying my son, while biting my lip and praying under my breath that my knees would hold out to get him to the top of the stairs without dropping him.  He's 18 months old, and is really pushing to find his own boundaries in this world.  He has no real concept of how to manage his own emotions, and has been having flares of temper and frustration that come out like tantrums.  It was just one of those mornings where he wanted to push at the limits.  While I was changing his diaper, he stuck one hand in his own mess and planted it on my chest.

I burst into tears.  I lost my temper.  I yelled at him, saying,  "JUST LOOK WHAT YOU'VE DONE."  I took my shirt off and threw it on the ground, cleaned up his hands, and cried through changing his diaper.   Then I put him in his crib and I walked into the bathroom, sat down on the toilet, and put my head in my hands and sobbed.  He cried from his crib, and I cried in my hands, and I said to myself "I AM A HORRIBLE MOTHER."  At that moment, I hated him for not cooperating.  And I hated myself for not being able to deal with this new phase.  I hated the pain in my body, and I hated that I have no control over it.

After I calmed down a little, I went and got him.  I hugged him and said "I love you, I'm sorry" over and over.  I got him dressed for school and let him play in his room a bit while I finished getting ready.  It was Daddy's day to take BabyBoy to school, and I walked them to the door.  BabyBoy put both hands on my cheeks and offered up his face for a kiss. 

"Baaah-Bye Mama!", he said, cheerfully.  I started crying again.  "Jesus, what is WRONG with you?", my husband asked.

"I"m a horrible mom.  I don't deserve him being so sweet to me when I lost my temper and yelled at him and, and..." words turned into sobs as I leaned my head against his shoulder.  Hubby patted me and said "I can't do anything about this right now, you're not a horrible mom, but we have to go."

I waved goodbye, and sat on the couch to cry some more.  I finally pulled myself together and got in the car, to hear a discussion about your latest cover story "Are you Mom enough?" about attachment parenting, breast feeding, and complete with an incendiary cover photo of a three year old standing on a stool, breastfeeding from a cute, young mom in skinny jeans.

Thank goodness, Alien Mom is Mom Enough.

If I had to classify myself as a mother, I would say yes, I am a believer in attachment parenting.  But here's the thing, my body, my disease did not allow me to be the kind of attachment parent I wanted to be.  I couldn't wear my son in a sling because I have 4 vertebra that are fused together from degeneration caused by arthritis in my back.  I wanted to breast feed him until he self- weaned, but I couldn't because I had to wean him at 4 months in order to go back on medication that would at least prevent further damage from occurring, even though it can't give me back mobility or pain-free movement.  Each time I've had to make a decision that's prioritized my own health and longer term prospects ABOVE the way I want to mother my son, I've gone through a period of beating myself up over it.

Basically, my first reaction is to say, "Hey, fuck you Time magazine.  Who are you to call me into question?  Who are you to put me and my decisions up against other mothers and make it some sort of competition?"

After a good nights sleep, and the beginnings of some pain relief after yesterdays treatment, I'm still pretty mad at you.  Even without extenuating circumstances (And let's face it, we all have extenuating circumstances), being a mother is really hard work. 

Instead I will say, "You know what, Time magazine?  I'm not perfect, but I'm doing the best I can.  I fuck up on a regular basis, but my little boy still kisses me and smiles and it's like Christmas morning.  I can't carry him in a sling, but I can teach him to be strong and to stand up.  I can't nourish him from my body, but I can teach him to be loving and care for others.  And I can support my sister-mothers through their own struggles."

So, in answer to your question, Yes.  I am MORE than enough, in my own way. 

Sincerely,

Not Perfect

P.S. - Fuck you, Time Magazine