Tucked Away

Away, tucked away in layers of cotton and breath.
I so hurriedly herded and encouraged and needed you there.
I held your half grown self firmly against me, absorbed your heat, your smell, your relentless adoration.

My heart pricked with the shame of my shortcomings.

Out from her mouth spilled the verbal commitment of her heart to me, her appreciation of her existence.  And I no longer wanted to give her to the night.
I needed her to know how sorry I am for showing up to this task with a nearly empty tank.
It's not ok.
I should be able to do it anyway.
I wanted to wail at her feet and beg for the day back- to not yell, to not speak harshly, to hold hands, to be still and listen, to be on the floor and catch all the moments that cannot be retrieved in these mourning hours of the night.

I wanted to promise that by tomorrow I will have it figured out.
I will be outfitted, somehow overnight, with the gear I need to be that mom. 
Maybe I just don't have the correct candle scent warming and filling my nostrils,
maybe the motivational quote on my computer screen isn't potent enough,
maybe the GMOs in my snacks are impacting my brain function.
Whatever it is, I wanted to promise her to have it solved and resolved by 8am tomorrow.

Of course I don't actually share any of this. 
Look at her.
She sees only perfection in me.
Why would I trouble her world when all of this only exists in mine.

She falls from my grip like a felled tree, vibrating the bed frame, sending the creatures surrounding her into the air, collapsing the pillow up around her face.

Sleeping baby

There is nothing more simply divine, more perfectly precious than my sleeping child.

Throughout the hours of the day her voice is a constant, her expressions twist and shape her face.  She is a little girl with a swinging pony tail and quick running legs.

Deep into slumber she is my baby.  Her face is soft, round and warm- relaxed.  I can kiss her and snuggle her and she won't pull away to busy herself elsewhere.

I am reminded that she is still so small, despite her outspoken preferences and blooming independence.  She really will always be my baby.

Momma Trauma

Moments like this one, where my kid is in her bed, screaming "Mommy!" while coughing and choking on heavy sobs, make me wonder: what was I thinking?

I've already put her back to bed twice.  I can see her on the monitor.  I've decided that my methods aren't working (this is a trend for the past four nights).  I can see her getting out of bed so I call to her from my spot on the couch, "Lay down Rosanna".  A fresh gusto of dismay and tragedy pours out of her.  She lays down and pulls the covers up.  Her small body is jerking with spastic breathes and she is still crying.

I am fighting reasoning against intense momma-bear coddling that is urging me to go in there and hold her until her breathing is normal again.

This sucks.

In this moment I ask myself: what was I thinking?  In a few years this upset will be small beans compared to what the world will bring to my most treasured soul.  It will tear me up and require of me to make more choices that won't make my baby happy, might even make her mad at me.  And it will be the best choice for her.  It'll likely give me heat palpitations (like tonight is) and I'll cry myself.

I signed up for this.

Right now she's quiet.  Every so often I hear a hard sniffle, one of those gasps that last for awhile after a hard cry.  She's still in bed.  I didn't even get up.  I feel like this should be a proud moment for me.

Hey Baby

Hey baby,

In a few weeks you'll be 2.  I can't even believe it.  This morning I woke up to go to work, and you woke up too.  You were laying in my arm pit, inches from my face, smiling your lovely smile.  Then you said to me, "Momma's here", grinning your sweet, sweet grin.  I love this time so much.  

You skin was sleepy warm, your face soft and covered in my loving kisses.

I couldn't love you more.  

My heart, my heeeeaaaarrrttttt

I get it, I'm new.  A year and a half is a piddly amount of time as a parent and I am here to tell you that what "they" say is usually true.  However it's of no use to tell any new parent this, they have to have the experience for themselves.  Not because they are bull-headed (well, I am) but because the experience is like nothing you can have ever imagined via being told.

So here I am, a pained parent, having an "experience".

I have held strong to the principle of co-sleeping since Ro was born.  There are too many benefits, so, despite plenty of unwelcome suggestions to do otherwise,  that is what we have done.  So I lay down with her for every nap time and every bed time until she falls asleep, and it is a wonderful mommy time for me.  There is not one single thing that beats out snuggling with my daughter, it's the best.

Lately I've noticed that I can be more of a distraction than a vehicle of sleep.  She'll chat with me a bit and point out my eyes, nose and mouth.  Sometimes when she is almost asleep she'll wake herself up to dig for my belly button (uh....so she likes belly buttons).  But at some point she'll need to be able to fall asleep on her own.  Right now she needs her mommy or her daddy to lay with her.  Up until now, this has posed no problems, but I imagine it'd be nice to have other options for sleepfulness.

So.....tonight.  Ah, tonight.  **BIG EXHALE**  After about 2 hours of sleeping, not sleeping, chatting and general "not-going-to-sleep"ness, I decided to remove myself.  First I just sat next to the bed.  She carried on, laughed a bit and fiddled with the pillow.  After 30 minutes of this I removed myself entirely (this is not the recommended Super Nanny way, oops- I should have stayed there, sitting until she was asleep) and the wrath of Ro began.

She followed me out of the room.  I put her back.  She told me she was, "all done".  I put her back.  She screeched and gargled something awful and ran after me out of the room.  I put her back.  She pleaded with me to, "belly" (lay down with her).  I told her in a calm, soothing voice that I loved her, that it was night-night time and she was to stay in bed and go to sleep.  This had her calm down....until I left.  She wailed, hollered, ripped out my heart and stomped it into the floor.  I put her back.  Imagine this process continuing for a bit.

I start to question if this sort of upset is really worth it.  Maybe she'll decide she can't trust me anymore.  What if bed time becomes this awful, dreaded beast of an event, unlike the casually welcomed process it is now?

During this mind cramp I became distracted from the fact that no child was trailing me.  And no crying to boot.  Hmm.  What could be going on in there?  I didn't have the guts to look and potentially re-start this mommy-soul-killing process.  So twenty minutes later I peek in and she is passed out on our bed (not the bed she is supposed to be passed out on).

Good...I guess?  This is what I wanted, right?  I think I am too damaged right now to feel victorious.  Besides, I don't really want to turn this into a competition in my head.  I am a bit relieved though, and sad.  Sad that she fell asleep with out me.

Crap, this parenting thing is rough.  So simultaneously high as a kite on kid smiles and then rock bottom on soggy eye lashes and scrunched red faces.

I'll be honest.  This process was brutal.  I've watched the Super Nanny do this over and over in people's homes and I've been cynical about the difficulty parents have with it.  Truth be told, I'm a bit horrified at the thought of doing this again tomorrow.  If I really want what I say I want, I'll do it.

Oh, please, oh, please, oh, please, let it be a short process!  Maybe she'll be good to go after tonight?  Yes.  That's it.

*LIP QUIVER*