No, Really, Here's Proof I'm a Bad Mother
I know I gave a compelling reason why I'm a bad mother recently, but here is the real proof of my unfit parenthood.
Today I offered to watch a friend's almost-2-year-old in addition to Babygirl and DaycareKid. My friend is expecting her second child in a couple of weeks and I thought she'd probably enjoy having a moment to herself before her newborn arrives.
Naptime came and I laid DaycareKid on the queen-sized bed in YoungestBoy's room ("Do not get off this bed!") and then I plunked Visiting Baby in the playpen in YoungestBoy's room (and left while she screamed her head off) and then I took Babygirl to her room for her ritual viewing of "It's Potty-Time!" a video which features a song with these lyrics: "She is a super-duper pooper. She can potty with the best. No more diapers to get in her way. We are very impressed!" Another song includes the words, "Wipe, wipe, wipe yourself, always front to back, carefully, carefully, now you've got the knack."
Lucky me. I get to watch this stellar children's video twice a day. So, the video ended and I laid Babygirl in her crib with her dollies and her blankets.
Half an hour later, I hear her calling my name. I completely ignore her. I need naptime! I need naptime like . . . well, like flowers need the rain. (That song just popped into my head.) I need naptime like I need oxygen; well, okay, maybe not oxygen, but like I need a shower every day. I just can't function up to par when I'm all sweaty and smelly and have hair like a Before picture in a magazine make-over article. And while I can exist without naptime, believe me, I'm a much more pleasant and civilized mother when I've had a little break for lunch and reading.
I decided to wait until 2:30 p.m. before I answered her urgent cries. Yesterday, she cried, then slept. I hoped for the same today. Precisely at 2:30 p.m., I first rescued Visiting Baby, then carried her to Babygirl's room, where I found my precious darling daughter with her pointer finger somehow pinched in the top railing of her crib. She was stuck. I unstuck her--it was a matter of angles, really--and held her and told her how sorry I was and she bounced back like a trooper and said, "I hurt!" and "Finger stuck!" as if it had been a Very Exciting Adventure.
See? Proof! I think she'd been standing there with her finger dented between the wood and latch while her nose ran without a diaper on for quite some time. She does not seem to have held a grudge, which is the beautiful thing about children. They always forgive you and move on. Later, they'll learn that some people will just keep hurting them over and over again and they will stop being generous with their forgiveness, but for the very young, every day is a new chance.
Now, on to other matters.
First, thank you kind internet friends for your comments on my previous post. It's odd how a situation will serve as a catalyst and propel a girl into a murky emotional swamp. I tend to wallow around a bit when I feel those moods coming on. The older I get, the more I am able to examine the feelings for what they are, feel them and say, "All right. Time to stand up straight and be a grown-up." Feelings come and go, after all, but a good man who'll just hug you when you try to cry without making a sound . . . that's forever.
Now, just something I noticed while reading a parenting book the other day. First, I read Parenting With Love and Logic, a book I highly recommend, both for its good writing and its reasonable approach to parenting. Normally, I get really confused and bored while reading parenting books. I read a lot of them before I had kids and thought I had parenting all figured out (ha ha ha ha ha) and since then, haven't really come across a striking book I could recommend. But this book is a must-read for all parents. I'm not kidding. I'll wait right here while you go to Amazon and order it.
Then, I read a second parenting book, Into Their Hearts by Valerie Bell. Although it probably had sound ideas, I could not concentrate because this author overshadowed everything she said with her use of exclamation points! I'm not kidding! In one chapter, I counted 64 exclamation points! In only eleven pages! I wondered if she is the kind of chipper cheerleading chick that is excited! About everthing! And always has her hair carefully styled! Sixty-four exclamation points! In eleven pages!
This author is hereby banned from every using another exclamation point. I decree it and so it shall be. If she uses all the exclamation points, there will be none left for the rest of us when we really, really, really need one. Conserve the Exclamation Points. (See? That slogan cries out for an exclamation point, which leaves me in a quandry, really. To exclaim or not to exclaim? If Valerie Bell hadn't already used all the old growth exclamation points and harvested them willy-nilly without regard to the world shortage of exclamation points, there might be a spare one growing in an old growth exclamation point area for such a time as this.)
In other news . . . well, there is no other news.
Today I offered to watch a friend's almost-2-year-old in addition to Babygirl and DaycareKid. My friend is expecting her second child in a couple of weeks and I thought she'd probably enjoy having a moment to herself before her newborn arrives.
Naptime came and I laid DaycareKid on the queen-sized bed in YoungestBoy's room ("Do not get off this bed!") and then I plunked Visiting Baby in the playpen in YoungestBoy's room (and left while she screamed her head off) and then I took Babygirl to her room for her ritual viewing of "It's Potty-Time!" a video which features a song with these lyrics: "She is a super-duper pooper. She can potty with the best. No more diapers to get in her way. We are very impressed!" Another song includes the words, "Wipe, wipe, wipe yourself, always front to back, carefully, carefully, now you've got the knack."
Lucky me. I get to watch this stellar children's video twice a day. So, the video ended and I laid Babygirl in her crib with her dollies and her blankets.
Half an hour later, I hear her calling my name. I completely ignore her. I need naptime! I need naptime like . . . well, like flowers need the rain. (That song just popped into my head.) I need naptime like I need oxygen; well, okay, maybe not oxygen, but like I need a shower every day. I just can't function up to par when I'm all sweaty and smelly and have hair like a Before picture in a magazine make-over article. And while I can exist without naptime, believe me, I'm a much more pleasant and civilized mother when I've had a little break for lunch and reading.
I decided to wait until 2:30 p.m. before I answered her urgent cries. Yesterday, she cried, then slept. I hoped for the same today. Precisely at 2:30 p.m., I first rescued Visiting Baby, then carried her to Babygirl's room, where I found my precious darling daughter with her pointer finger somehow pinched in the top railing of her crib. She was stuck. I unstuck her--it was a matter of angles, really--and held her and told her how sorry I was and she bounced back like a trooper and said, "I hurt!" and "Finger stuck!" as if it had been a Very Exciting Adventure.
See? Proof! I think she'd been standing there with her finger dented between the wood and latch while her nose ran without a diaper on for quite some time. She does not seem to have held a grudge, which is the beautiful thing about children. They always forgive you and move on. Later, they'll learn that some people will just keep hurting them over and over again and they will stop being generous with their forgiveness, but for the very young, every day is a new chance.
Now, on to other matters.
First, thank you kind internet friends for your comments on my previous post. It's odd how a situation will serve as a catalyst and propel a girl into a murky emotional swamp. I tend to wallow around a bit when I feel those moods coming on. The older I get, the more I am able to examine the feelings for what they are, feel them and say, "All right. Time to stand up straight and be a grown-up." Feelings come and go, after all, but a good man who'll just hug you when you try to cry without making a sound . . . that's forever.
Now, just something I noticed while reading a parenting book the other day. First, I read Parenting With Love and Logic, a book I highly recommend, both for its good writing and its reasonable approach to parenting. Normally, I get really confused and bored while reading parenting books. I read a lot of them before I had kids and thought I had parenting all figured out (ha ha ha ha ha) and since then, haven't really come across a striking book I could recommend. But this book is a must-read for all parents. I'm not kidding. I'll wait right here while you go to Amazon and order it.
Then, I read a second parenting book, Into Their Hearts by Valerie Bell. Although it probably had sound ideas, I could not concentrate because this author overshadowed everything she said with her use of exclamation points! I'm not kidding! In one chapter, I counted 64 exclamation points! In only eleven pages! I wondered if she is the kind of chipper cheerleading chick that is excited! About everthing! And always has her hair carefully styled! Sixty-four exclamation points! In eleven pages!
This author is hereby banned from every using another exclamation point. I decree it and so it shall be. If she uses all the exclamation points, there will be none left for the rest of us when we really, really, really need one. Conserve the Exclamation Points. (See? That slogan cries out for an exclamation point, which leaves me in a quandry, really. To exclaim or not to exclaim? If Valerie Bell hadn't already used all the old growth exclamation points and harvested them willy-nilly without regard to the world shortage of exclamation points, there might be a spare one growing in an old growth exclamation point area for such a time as this.)
In other news . . . well, there is no other news.
posted by Melodee at Thursday, September 09, 2004
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