I often find my kids annoying.
Let me explain.
When Angel was first born, even after the drama of pre-eclampsia, pre-mature birth and 35 days in the NICU, I remained under the illusion that this tiny little being was going to fit neatly into my pre-baby life. I had a schedule (based upon extensive research in books from authors with pen names like The Baby Whisperer and Sleep Genius - if the Sleep Genius said it, it MUST be true!). I would successfully get the baby on a regimented activity schedule, including feeding, playtime and sleep within the first 4 weeks of life. By week 6, he would sleep through the night and I could begin the hard work of regaining my girlish figure by miraculously losing 65+ pounds in the 6 remaining weeks of my maternity leave so that I could return to work looking and behaving as if nothing ever happened.
Yeah, right.
Even after the 18 months of hourly feeding and GERD-induced mania began to fade into distant memory, I was still under the illusion that I could fit this child into my life. On the weekends, I found myself watching the clock - itching for nap time to arrive so that I could actually get something done. There were bills to be paid, floors to mop, dinners to prepare, work to be done. I had a schedule and THIS kid was getting in the way.
Thankfully, somewhere along the way I realized that this kid WAS my life. As the Bible speaks of putting away childish ways when we are grown, the cloak of motherhood became more closely fitted to my form and I realized that THIS kid was MY kid, and this kid was my life. My old life had passed away and while I needed a moment to mourn and reflect, life anew was more fulfilling, more incredible, more amazing (all-the-while being at times more depressing, more challenging and more exhausting) than I could have ever imagined. I couldn't fit him into my life, my life evolved to fit him. He changed me and my priorities - and while the change was gradual, it was as indelible as the lingering scent of a Sharpie.
Fast forward to baby #2. I learned my lesson from the first-go-round. I assumed that little Vic would wake every 90 minutes to feed for the first 18 months of life (we got lucky - he only stuck it out for 10...). I learned to get through the busy-ness of life during the off-hours: balancing checkbooks, folding clothes and grocery shopping on Fridays spent working from home (in addition to the seemingly never-ending-to-do-list from an already all-encompassing day job) and in the hours between 9pm and midnight. While I rarely saw more than 5 hours of sleep, (for a good stretch of time, I subsisted on an average of 90 minutes per night. Apologies to anyone that I may have mowed down during my morning rush to the train or drooled on as I fell asleep in status meetings), there was a silver lining in that the time I spent with my children was actually spent WITH them and not waiting for them to fall asleep so that I could get back to MY life.
Now, the boys are getting older. Victor will be 2 in January. Angel turns 4 three weeks later. We have a steady bedtime routine and they typically sleep tight from roughly 8:30 pm until 6 or so in the morning...sometimes as late as 6:45 (glory!). While I still burn the midnight oil on a regular basis to manage all the busy-ness of life (it's 12:32am as I write this), I regularly allow myself a few full nights of sleep each week (dark circles are NOT the new black). And while I still prefer to keep the with-child errands to a minimum, I have no problem running into Target or BJs with the family in tow on the weekend.
This week, however, I found myself seeing my kids as a distraction once again.
After a challenging 2 weeks (to say the least!), I looked forward to a completely meeting-free Friday to balance my checkbook, take a long run and FINALLY complete the 4 big work projects that had been lingering for more time than I care to remember or admit. On Thursday night, both kids went to bed relatively on schedule and while Angel seemed a bit congested, nothing seemed to be terribly out-of-order.
In the morning, both kids slept until roughly 6:30 (the first sign of trouble). While Victor was his normal-chipper-self, Angel was dragging a bit. Slightly more dramatic than his standard morning adagio. His congestion was heavier, cough slightly disturbing. The kicker was when he announced with a moan that he did NOT want to go to "big boy school" , (the place that he PINES for each weekend and rises with the sun to arrive on time 3 days per week), because he was sick.
Ugh.
There goes my schedule.
Fast forward - I call the preschool to let them know that Angel won't be in class today because he's not feeling well. The director lets me know that there have been 3 cases of strep throat at the school this week.
Double ugh.
While he doesn't have a fever and is sluggish but relatively playful, I can't run the risk that he has strep throat and miss the opportunity to get some antibiotics into his system before the weekend. We head to the pediatrician, the test strip turns pink and it's off-to-Walgreens-we-go.
I looked at my watch. It was 11:15. My plan was to knock out reviews between 9 and 11:45 (while Angel was at preschool) so that I could dedicate the rest of the afternoon to banging out my 3 presentations. All of which are due next week...and have been lingering for longer than I care to remember or admit. Then I started to get agitated. How quickly can I get home to put this kid to bed so I can get to the business of busy-ness?
Bad Mommy.
The difference, 4 years later, is that mercifully I was able to catch myself and hit the pause button. Rather than rushing home and sweeping him into bed, (likely accompanied by yelling, screaming and whining - from both mommy and son), we stopped by the pharmacy to pick up the prescription and went to have pizza. It was 11:30, he was hungry and we both needed a change of scenery. We ordered 2 slices, an apple juice and a Diet Dr. Pepper. We sat at a table where he could watch the pizza man flip the dough and I had an actual conversation with my almost-4 year old. I watched him methodically examine his pizza and carefully take the first bite. Too hot. He took a sip of his apple juice and turned to give me a toothy grin. I smiled back, put my arm around him and we lingered this way for a while.
Lest the moment become too idyllic, the high school lunch crowd chose that very second to burst into the narrow-hallway-of-a-pizza joint. Rather than scurry out the door, we lingered in the din. My boy watching the big kids laugh and eat and play. His mother realizing that all-too-soon he would be amid the crowd. The tiny baby was already a distant memory. High school, it seemed, would be here in the blink of an eye.
After the first slice (oh, you thought one of the slices was for ME? Have you seen my kids eat?), Angel decided that his tummy hurt from the medicine and that he would like to take a nap. I said "OK" and guided him through the traffic, out the door, while he held the pizza box like a big boy. After a few fits-and-starts, naptime went down smoothly. While my big boy dozed I wrote reviews, banged out 2 presentations and polished off the third between the hours of 9pm and midnight....just like the "good" old days.
For a moment, I looked at my son as a distraction today. His illness an annoyance. Thankfully, my 4 puny years of experience as a mom were enough to give me pause and recognize the day for what it really was.
A blessing.
An unexpected chance to spend the day with my boy.
A beautiful day in the life of a BadAssMama.
