But if you try sometimes...
Someone somewhere once said that the hardest job you'll ever love is parenting (or was it teaching? same difference).
Wise words...
I. is an amazing person. Truly. She is often the only reason that I get up in the mornings, that I take time out from my "important" duties to smell flowers and splash in the water, and laugh until I cry.
But of late she has been, how to say it? Impossible!
When I signed up for this gig I was well aware of the fact that it meant that for the next twenty years (assuming I never have another baby... ok, won't go there today) my needs were to be subservient to hers in an inversely proportional (roughly) relation to the number of years passed. I was ok with that. But I can't take the whining, I can't take it, I'm going mad!
Ok, add to that my feeling ill (I am going to the emergency room in the morning, I promise) and the understandable stress incurred upon entry in a new school setting, but honestly, I really don't know how much longer this can go on.
Last night she weasled her way into a blanket bed on the floor, but then at 2 am I found her with one leg thrown over me, casually as if she belonged (until last week, this was true, she looks with her puppy-dog eyes and wants to know why in kindergarten they want her to sleep all alone?). Instead of disturbing her slumber I slipped out of the bed and went to her generally unused one. 20 minutes later she is crying... "mommy, I had an accident in your bed!" %*#(@! "Ok darling, go to your bed, Mommy's not mad at you, no, shhh, don't cry, breath, breath, please calm down, breath!!! I'll be there in a minute, yes, just go to your room, NOW!"
I dry the bed, while acting as referee, and all I want to do is go back to sleep and make this stomach pain go away (my heart really goes out to all those uninsured people that don't go to the doctor despite severe illness because they can't afford to pay: I got a taste over this long holiday weekend as by the time I realized how sick I really was it was Friday afternoon and the University Health Center was closed until Tuesday and the thought of paying $100 out of pocket for a visit to the community emergency clinic was enough to keep me home). We sleep curled together in her single bed, and I slip away just before she awakens, and lie, saying that she slept alone (if she believes in herself, maybe this transition will work!)
But sleep problems aside, she has been wailing disconsolately over the littlest issues, because she couldn't climb a tree, because she couldn't get down, because I told her she couldn't have a juice box because they were meant for her snacks. She defies my authority with the most blatant flair, her eyes like a wild filly, she stomps the ground. She sobs at the top of her lungs while swimming in the deep pool because she is angry at me. For what? I'm not sure, but I have a sinking feeling that I know.
I used to be able to make her laugh, singing "you can't always get what you want..." when delivering a negative response. She would express her annoyance, but laugh at our little private joke, and she would always remember the end of that line... "But if you try sometimes, you just might find, you get what you need..." She seems to have lost her humor about these things, flying off into a raging bent when confronted with any unexpected outcome, but I keep trying, I keep trying to help her help herself. So I let her sit up in the tree that she climbed while wailing that she wants mommy, and I coach her down, "put your hand there, swing your leg through, use your baby muscles, you can do it, sweetie!" and when she finally gets down, I regale her with verbal praise, "I'm so proud of you, see? you did it all by yourself!" Why can't I do the same for myself???
Wise words...
I. is an amazing person. Truly. She is often the only reason that I get up in the mornings, that I take time out from my "important" duties to smell flowers and splash in the water, and laugh until I cry.
But of late she has been, how to say it? Impossible!
When I signed up for this gig I was well aware of the fact that it meant that for the next twenty years (assuming I never have another baby... ok, won't go there today) my needs were to be subservient to hers in an inversely proportional (roughly) relation to the number of years passed. I was ok with that. But I can't take the whining, I can't take it, I'm going mad!
Ok, add to that my feeling ill (I am going to the emergency room in the morning, I promise) and the understandable stress incurred upon entry in a new school setting, but honestly, I really don't know how much longer this can go on.
Last night she weasled her way into a blanket bed on the floor, but then at 2 am I found her with one leg thrown over me, casually as if she belonged (until last week, this was true, she looks with her puppy-dog eyes and wants to know why in kindergarten they want her to sleep all alone?). Instead of disturbing her slumber I slipped out of the bed and went to her generally unused one. 20 minutes later she is crying... "mommy, I had an accident in your bed!" %*#(@! "Ok darling, go to your bed, Mommy's not mad at you, no, shhh, don't cry, breath, breath, please calm down, breath!!! I'll be there in a minute, yes, just go to your room, NOW!"
I dry the bed, while acting as referee, and all I want to do is go back to sleep and make this stomach pain go away (my heart really goes out to all those uninsured people that don't go to the doctor despite severe illness because they can't afford to pay: I got a taste over this long holiday weekend as by the time I realized how sick I really was it was Friday afternoon and the University Health Center was closed until Tuesday and the thought of paying $100 out of pocket for a visit to the community emergency clinic was enough to keep me home). We sleep curled together in her single bed, and I slip away just before she awakens, and lie, saying that she slept alone (if she believes in herself, maybe this transition will work!)
But sleep problems aside, she has been wailing disconsolately over the littlest issues, because she couldn't climb a tree, because she couldn't get down, because I told her she couldn't have a juice box because they were meant for her snacks. She defies my authority with the most blatant flair, her eyes like a wild filly, she stomps the ground. She sobs at the top of her lungs while swimming in the deep pool because she is angry at me. For what? I'm not sure, but I have a sinking feeling that I know.
I used to be able to make her laugh, singing "you can't always get what you want..." when delivering a negative response. She would express her annoyance, but laugh at our little private joke, and she would always remember the end of that line... "But if you try sometimes, you just might find, you get what you need..." She seems to have lost her humor about these things, flying off into a raging bent when confronted with any unexpected outcome, but I keep trying, I keep trying to help her help herself. So I let her sit up in the tree that she climbed while wailing that she wants mommy, and I coach her down, "put your hand there, swing your leg through, use your baby muscles, you can do it, sweetie!" and when she finally gets down, I regale her with verbal praise, "I'm so proud of you, see? you did it all by yourself!" Why can't I do the same for myself???
posted by ilana at 9:21 p.m.
7 Comments:
Jo! Lo que me espera en unos meses! (espero no te irrite el que haya colgado un "post" paralelo al tuyo en mi diario).
"...I was well aware of the fact that it meant that for the next twenty years (...) my needs were to be subservient to hers in an inversely proportional (roughly) relation to the number of years passed"
Hey, kiddo. You got that formula wrong, I'm sorry to report. Our needs ARE subservient to theirs in an exponentially increasing relation to the number of years passed; and not just twenty, dear. It's a lifetime rap what you get. X)
Then again, when you sit and ponder about raising your child; you'll realize that there have always been (and there will always be) more joys to it than the occasional frustration.
And hey! That's a Stones lyric, right? That kid's got one cool mom for sure!
Yuré, since I can't comment in yours (yet)... JAJAJA!!! of course, you always make me smile, but this one had me laughing out loud. Breath in, breath out... (how'd Lamaze go?)
Oscar, wishful thinking? I think what I meant to write was that the major time-consuming (not psyche-consuming) stuff lessens with the passage of time, giving us a little more "range of motion" if you will:) // Yeah, too bad you can't bottle coolness, I'd be a millionaire. ;-P
Bueno, al menos I. tiene como excusa perfecta del whining-streak que tiene 6 años y la ventaja de una mamá tolerante y paciente y no de las de mi época que te dejaban la boquita viendo para el c*lo ante lo que se considerara como malacrianza. Conozco a adultos que se comportan way worse.
Sole, ni llega a los seis, la condenada, y me está dando una lata terrible... y pues muy amable que me tiras de tolerante y no (apenas) tolerable;)
La tuya no tiene 6. La mía ya tiene 8 y no ha salido de esa etapa. Y yo no soy exactamente tolerante de la malacrianza. It has been a tough couple of years! Good luck!
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