Thursday, December 30, 2010

No Pain, No Gain, No Sleep

Baby Harry is nine months old and, until recently, was doing a spot-on job of sleeping through the night. Then he got sick. Like "hey I could probably fry an egg on you if I wanna!" sick.
It was the worst two weeks of my life.
So, obviously, I met his every whim and need on command. If he was hungry even after eating his large lunch, I fed him. If he didn't want to sleep until midnight and could only find comfort by lying on his back, arched over my shoulder like a mink stole, I accomodated. If he felt like climbing my shirt front, ripping off whatever breast-like mass that happened to be in his way, and leaving a goo of baby nose slime in his wake - he did it.
And I showered more.
When he let me.
So now that he's pink and perky and back to a less fiery temperature - I seem to have nurtured the sickness - and the brattiness- out of him.
He sobs if I remove a found toy from his hands - no matter that his new "toy" is usually something that could choke/scar/maim him. He now imitates a banshee on crack if I so much as venture more than 12" from his person - making "quiet time" for momma a near impossibility. And, finally, he refuses to sleep alone.
His Pottery Barn crib with colorful sheets and bumpers?
A torture chamber.
The Twilght Turtle projecting the night sky upon the ceiling?
His jailer.
And me?
I am his Pardoner.
Only I can save him from his cruel cold prison. And so he howls, he shrieks, he yells, he shakes, he grunts, he coughs, he sputters and he pleads: "MOMMOMMAMMMOMMAAAMOMMAMMMOOOMMMA!"
And what do I do?
I escape. I hide. I cry. I --- blog.

Monday, December 6, 2010

Giving Up

As the year 2011 approaches I realize that my life has been less about what I wanted and more about what others have wanted from me.
I am a born people-pleaser.
I may be able to craft a story, type quite a few words a minute (not well, but still!) and I can make the best of most any situation - but I've often felt I was one of those people born to make others shine that much more brightly.
My sister was the brain (even though her grades didn't show it) and she was the beauty (her trophies did show that) and I was - the other one. I often referred to myself as the Danny DeVito of "Twins" - that my sis sucked up the gene pool so that only the leftover crap and sludge caught in the filter was what constructed my DNA.
I lacklusterly finished college with a BA in Criminal Justice - a degree so useless that it is often mentioned first in 2am infomercials to the weak-willed and weaker-minded. Fresh out of college I reached far in my pursuit of Career Advancement - and started work as a Receptionist. At a second-rate law firm. A place that was lovingly nicknamed "Hell" whilst I sat in the lobby and let my brain rot on Harry Potter fan fiction and my butt expand on the consumption of poorly placed Hershey's miniatures.
But things have changed.
And although I am still a people pleaser - I find that my ability to please only one, tiny, demanding person, at a time is --- enjoyable.
So although I may not be a world famous authoress as I once intended - I'm happy now to just be Baby Harry's mom - a fact that should embarrass my semi-feminist bod to the core - but I find it's actually soothing.
I'm not giving up my life for him - I'm just --- giving.

Then again, I could wake up tomorrow in a blind panic and find myself in two years' time, at 3 am on one of those infomercials saying "I'm a Phoenix!"

Merry Christmas Cyberland!