The "Bad Mommy"

A silly little brouhaha has broken out on our neighborhood parenting page. It was probably planted by a journalist, as most of these scrabbles land in the center of the Times or gather a group on Gawker, growing comments by the dozens. The general gist began with a gloating "I'm a bad mommy" confessional, and expanded to encapsulate the Mommy Wars. These, apparently (so say the journalists), are raging all around us.

Basically, this group pisses off that group. They're too attentive, smothering really. They're too self-absorbed, negligent, really. And it propagates from there, covering every mothering decision possible; sleeping, feeding, schooling, diapering, circumcising.... parenting.

I'm less than impressed with this war we're supposed to be rising above. Seems status quo to E and I that the choices we make will piss off somebody. And generally, unless I see you smacking your kid in front of me, I'm too busy to worry about your shoddy decisions. I'm too busy worrying about mine (hmm, does that make me too attentive or too self-absorbed? ;)

Like tonight. When I could write my very own Bad Mommy post. As the offspring is finally twitching into oblivion, curled around my knees, and the husband is happily sleeping on the couch, the only dark and quiet spot in the house.

Why the private brouhaha? Well, (drumroll please) the Little Man decided he was ready to sleep on his own.

Let's let that simmer for a moment, shall we?

Last Friday, after months of chatting about the possibility (and over 5 years of cosleeping), Phoenix finally took the bait. The loft was to be his. E and I would take the big bed below, alone :) So, Saturday was set aside to make bed rails. I'd designed something in my head, combining tent like fun with an easy option for the night time pee - and the ever important shrunken budget. E, well, to E this all sounded a bit, um, complex. It necessitated a quick run to the hardware store. Perhaps some measuring. And it was raining. And windy. So.... Why don't we just throw up the baby rail on one side and screw that piece of plywood onto the other side? Er, well, I guess that will do....

So, above, you have a baby pic rather than the loft pic because its a shameful sight that I just won't share.

The Little Man then proceeded to spend the entire rest of the day in his loft. We evenutally read and cuddled to sleep. I snuck out, per his plan. He woke up, not per plan. Repeat a few times (damn, dry creaky wood!!!) and then the child slept. Until 4 AM, when he decided he'd had just about enough of that, climbed down and kicked Papa out of the big bed.

Moving onto Sunday night. I informed him the discreet exit was too much work. He requested to be read to sleep. I, already feeling worn down from the night before and the previous week's worth of child led insomnia, suggested that post book he listen to a Pooh story with his headphones. A deal was struck and the child was left (a whole three feet above me) to fall asleep on his own. Of course, every stuffed animal known to mankind had to be re-organized (they, too, had moved into the loft). Then we had to pee. Oop! Then we had to poop. Then we needed more help with the headphones. Then we had to blow kisses, for forever, over the side of the loft. Then we'd lost this particular animal, then that. Then the battery ran out and we had to lay there, babbling, forever. I was trying to be very patient. This change is huge for him.

But, of course, this would be the night before the very rare morning that we actually had PLANS. Time critical plans. Oh. and, bonus point for Mommy With No Planning Skills Whatsoever, it also happened to be the night after the spring time change. Golden.

Of course, with the baby rail all along one side and a staunchly unmovable (and have I mentioned, unbelievably attractive!) plywood board on the other side, there is no way for me to lift the sleeping child at midnight for a middle of the night potty run. (He tends to consume vast quantities of water while wrestling with E, right before bed.) Needless to say, the child eventually deposited the vast quantities, while sleeping in said bed, and then climbed down to join me in the dry bed. Cleaning and resettling ensued. And by this time, with the early curtain call for "The Little Engine that Could" (cute show, by the way) there was no reason for the Idiot Mother to go back to sleep. And so I ingested caffeine, for the first time in 6 years, this morning.

Obviously, the child was stretched thin on sleep today too. So bending over backwards to make our theater bound day trip enjoyable today was de rigueur. So, by tonight, I was done before we'd even started, really :) I thought I'd prepped everything, in a tragic attempt at smoothness. Yet here it is, three hours after the child typically falls asleep, and he's just now curled up, not in his new loft bed, but back on me:)

And I love him dearly, really I do. Really. We're happy to keep co-sleeping. Whatever works for the kid. Just as long as the word "sleep" is part of the equation, we're game....

But, tonight, after dollie after dollie kissed me goodnight, and every imaginable stall known to mankind had been expertly executed, I gritted my teeth so hard it hurt. Then, through these teeth I tried to mutter calmly (but the child could hear the grit, I know it), "I love you. Play and settle as long as you like, but I'm done. Done. My head needs quiet. I really must. Goodnight, love."

It was about, oh, 45 seconds or so before I heard from him that time.

And it was fairly clear that the peaceful chat we'd had concerning my tired brain and its need for quiet tonight just wasn't ringing any bells upstairs for the short set. And I could feel that switch. The one that flips, that you can feel flipping, that you wish you could flip back, but its like the fuse box is located elsewhere, behind padlocks.... So I informed him that, for sanity's sake, I was placing headphones over my ears. That I would talk no more. That he is loved and I would answer any and all questions in the morning, but I would be completely quiet until then. Typically, any one of these sentences is enough to soothe our evening into serenity. He usually gets it. Not tonight. "Ooooo! What will you listen to Mama? I can listen too!"

I know. It seems so small and petty. I have one child. No job. A husband, with a job. I get to spend every day with my sweet kid. I'm not dodging land mines with one leg and 5 children. I should have infinite patience and zen. Yet, I may or may not have punched a pillow at this point.

I focused on not cracking a gritted tooth as I said "Good night, Phoenix." And then I let the headphones slap down, hard, as I turned Royksopp up, loud, (enough the offspring probably could hear it). And I felt the fuse switch back. There was quiet in my head and all was well.

The child climbed down from his newly loved loft, patted my leg, and was asleep in 3 minutes flat.

Now I need to use this luscious bit of quiet to figure out if that "need" for quiet is fact or fiction and if there are any loopholes. But, at least the child is well positioned for a midnight pee run tonight...