Mommy ears

I recently came across a humorous survey of moms responding to the question, “What do you want for Mother’s Day?”  Many of the responses centered around time to themselves, the chance to read a book, sleep, folded laundry, or simply the ability to pee uninterrupted.  You know, the luxuries.  While I could relate to most of these, one in particular made me laugh out loud (or LOL, as the kids say): “I would like to gift my husband with my Mommy ears so he could hear the baby fart in the next room.”  SO.  TRUE. 

This is by no means a daddy-bashing session; rather, it is a commentary on one of the unique qualities that make mommies, well, mommies (and that make us drink wine).  My husband is an amazing daddy and he certainly pulls his weight.  However, he is also an incredibly sound sleeper and he’s not a mom.  Those two factors mean that his nights tend to be a little more on the restful side, particularly with little ones in the house.  I. Hear. Everything.  And it drives me crazy.  Every cough, every whimper, every sigh – monitor not required.  But perhaps the most troubling sound is silence.  Only a mother could be startled awake in the middle of the night by a complete absence of sound and think, “My gosh!  I just slept for 4 hours straight!  Is everyone okay?!  Are they breathing?”  Ah yes, the added bonus of Mommy ears is the accompanying Mommy paranoia that seeps in and convinces me I need to monitor everyone’s heart rate before I can hope to doze off again myself. 

My favorite sitcom without a doubt is Friends, and I’m guilty of having much of the dialogue of many episodes memorized.  I’m reminded of the one where Rachel is struggling to leave her new baby with a sitter for the first time.  In an effort to convince her to get out of the apartment, Ross pushes her out the door, accidentally locking them out.  As Rachel’s panic rises, Ross sarcastically describes a vivid scenario involving a flooding apartment, a kitchen fire, and an eagle that has flown in the window and seized baby Emma in its talons.  I chuckled at this scene as a young college chicky, appreciating the humor and siding with Ross in his belief that Rachel had a touch of the crazies. 

Now that I have children of my own, it doesn’t seem quite so far-fetched.  In fact, I find myself often imagining the worst case scenario.  This hits me hardest in the middle of the night (seriously, why is everything a little bit more uncertain in the dark?  Including my sanity?).  Room temperature, a child’s comfort, too many/too few blankets, a misplaced stuffed animal, an unswaddled swaddle, an unlocked window, the mere possibility of spilled water or a full diaper…all of these things have made me get out of bed in the wee hours of the morning “just to make sure” everything is okay.  As I lay awake in my bed trying to will myself back to sleep, I am aware it is highly unlikely someone would dodge our security system, shimmy up the pole on the porch, somehow scale the walls of our home, and force themselves into a second story bedroom through a partially open window.  However, to borrow Rachel’s response to Ross’s monologue, “You are going to be so sorry if that’s true.”  So it’s best to check, you know, just to make sure.

Having recently been through the newborn stage, I was reminded my paranoia is particularly heightened during this period.  I literally could not sleep in the same room as my babies during the first month of their lives.  I of course wanted them in the same room with me, but I’m just saying there was no sleep happening on my part when they were there.  In order to grant me some rest, my saint of a husband would take the baby downstairs for a few hours so I could fall asleep.  I just needed to know someone else was in charge, and I needed to be out of earshot of every little grunt and newborn squeak. 

So yes, my Mommy ears drive me crazy.  But being the half glass full kind of person I am, I also try to enjoy the benefits they offer.  Most of the time, I worry for nothing, so it really just gives me a chance to see my little angels completely silent and restful.  They are especially lovable when they’re not making a sound.  Watching my children sleep absolutely fills my heart, so getting a few extra chances to do that isn’t a bad thing.  But for goodness’ sake, I hightail it out of the room if they so much as rustle, because I don’t want to be there if they open their eyes.  After all, I need some freaking sleep.

Being the parent

You know that thing where you birth a child, love them with every fiber of your being, rearrange your life around them, see to their every physical and emotional need, and then they hit the age of three and don’t listen to a single word you say?  Yeah, that.  Of course I’m exaggerating.  Our son listens to some things we say.  In fact, his hearing becomes particularly acute when he hears the words “ice cream” or “library.”  But when we’re asking him to complete a task (go potty, get ready for bed, clean up your toys, etc.), he sometimes likes to exert his independence.  It’s frustrating.  Beyond frustrating – it’s absolutely maddening.  And since I’m a human with selfish tendencies and a need to be recognized, it also makes me sad and a little indignant – sometimes to the point where I have to bite my tongue and push aside the childish urge to scream, “Don’t you realize what I do for you?!  You’re WELCOME!”

But I don’t get to say that.  I don’t get to throw the tantrum, because instead I get the joyful task of being the parent.  “Being the parent” in these cases means essentially that you get the crappy job of making everyone cry – yes, yourself included.  Tonight we had a brawl over the bedtime routine.  After consistent pushback on my requests to go to the bathroom, brush his teeth, and get his pajamas on, I introduced a consequence: no bedtime stories.  Consequences are so easy to throw out there, and it’s great when they create an immediate response.  However, I’ve noticed the older my son gets the more he likes to try and call our bluff.  Dammit. 

Following through on consequences is unbelievably hard.  And I realize now that parents really do not enjoy doing so – as a matter of fact, I absolutely hate it.  I would much rather a threat correct the situation without actually having to be enacted.  But when my son continued to push me, I had to follow through.  There would be no stories tonight.  What he doesn’t comprehend (and likely won’t until he has his own children) is this news hit me as hard as it did him.  I love story time with him, and I hate seeing him cry.  Both of those things were ruined when I had to be the parent.  This just further adds to my frustration because if he had listened in the first place, we’d all be happy and snuggling in his bed and having that perfect family moment that I assumed happened in households every night.

As I sat in the room across the hall, rocking the baby to sleep to the sounds of my three-year-old’s cries, tears streamed down my own face.  Tears because he was crying, because I felt guilty, because I assumed he would think I don’t love him, because I thought he would hate me, and because I realized looking down at the sweet angel falling asleep in my arms that we would be in this same place in three more years.  And for the umpteenth time I thought, “Being the parent is freaking hard.”

In the process of getting over my drama, I was able to find some comfort in reflecting on my own childhood.  I kept thinking I don’t remember it being like this.  I don’t remember fighting my parents and crying when I didn’t get my way.  After I reluctantly refused the conclusion that I must have been some sort of perfect child I realized the likely truth – I don’t remember that stuff because it is overshadowed by the good.  When I think back to bedtime as a child, I remember that my parents read to me, and I felt safe and loved.  I’m sure we had nights like mine tonight, but they’re not top of mind for me.  I worry so much about breaking my child by making him angry, but the reality is he likely won’t remember this in thirty years (or tomorrow morning for that matter).  What seems like a big deal to me is just another learning experience for him.  And if I want him to turn out to be a decent, respectful human being, he has to understand boundaries.

Enter the parent (sigh).  I’m learning more and more it can be a thankless and exhausting job, but it’s what we signed up for, right?  I’ll keep pushing through these frustrating experiences one at a time, trying to remind myself for every awful night with no bedtime stories there are countless memories to be made of snuggles in a twin bed surrounded by stuffed animals.  Those are the nights I live for.