First of all, let me say I am proud of the woman me, happy with the wife me, confident in the friend me, sure of the teacher me. It's this whole business of being a mommy that I'm just now figuring out that I can't seem to figure out! And so begins my journey to a better Mommy Me.
I've really had it pretty easy these last 6 and three-quarter years. Our miracle son came to us after 8 years of infertility, 3-months of Clomid, and one IUI session (that's what worked). He was born 6 days overdue, but I didn't mind. I had an easy pregnancy, so what was a few more days - except we wanted his birth to be a little farther away from Christmas...
We brought home our beautiful, healthy boy, celebrated Christmas with family, everyone was gone after the new year, and we began to settle into our new lives. Lives we'd been waiting for for so long. We'd read baby books, we'd been to the classes, we'd received advice (wanted and, well, not-so-wanted), and we were ready. Turns out, we were pretty good at this baby stuff. Our little guy was sleeping through the night around 2-months with wonderfully scheduled naps during the day. He nursed beautifully, and drank expressed milk and formula (he didn't care) from a bottle at the sitters while I was at work teaching other people's children, he practically followed the baby books and online resources to a T in his development and even started potty training himself at 18-months!
This parenting stuff, on the whole, was pretty easy. When No.1 turned 2, we decided it was time for me to stop working and start concentrating on No.2. 6 failed IUI's passed and we were on the road to saving for IVF when I asked my OB if we could just try Clomid in the meantime, you know, just in case. Two months in and No. 2 was on his way. So, we then had a 4.5-yr old and a new born. I was worried No.1 wouldn't take it too well, and though it did take a couple days to adjust, but the two of them were best buds before the week was out.
I was now a stay-at-home-mom. A role I'd never experienced, but, oh, so glad to take on. We figured out a schedule for No.2 that still allowed No.1 to have some one-on-one time with me and life continued.
Well, now No.1 is 6 and No.2 is 2 and I have just discovered over the last month that things are changing. No.1 has his own agenda and it doesn't always coincide with mine. No.1 was placed in the gifted program in kindergarten, so we knew we had a smarty pants on our hands (really, we've known that for a long time), but now he's figured out how to use those smarts to try to outwit us. No.1 will purposely push buttons, use his amazing selective hearing powers, and overreact when reprimanded (for instance, he was misbehaving at the table last summer, so we told him he had to leave and go to his room, so on his way he "tripped" over the vacuum and got "tangled" in the chord, and I mean tangled! - drama king).
So, it's all him, right? It's all his fault he's so over-the-top and dramatic. It's all his fault he pushes buttons. It's. All. His. Fault. Right?
No.
It takes two to tango and had I not erupted into a screaming banshee when he first pushed that button, had I not made such a scene when he threw his tantrum, had I not thrown him in timeout because he wouldn't practice his piano (lot o' good sitting in time out does for piano practice, huh?), then things might be different.
Well, things will be different. I know because I've made up my mind that they will be. And here's why I've made up my mind:
Today, No.1 was to be practicing piano. It wasn't hard stuff. He'd been playing it for 4 or 5 days already, but today he wanted to push buttons, not keys. I'd had it up to here, and from my seat to the left of the keyboard I looked at him and half yelled/half cried, "WHY CAN'T YOU BE OBEDIENT?!" Oh, but that's not it, I yelled upstairs that I was leaving, I had to get away, and asked my husband, no, told my husband that he had to take care of the boys and then I left. I got in my car and left.
I got as far as the end of the driveway and decided since I was running away, I might as well take the book club books back to the library. So I spun the wheels back up the gravel drive, stormed back inside, grabbed the books, slammed the door shut behind me, then I left...to the library.
I took the bag of books inside, dropped them off on the return cart, and decided I'd look for the sequel to the book I had just read (The No.1 Ladies' Detective Agency - great read, by the way). Book two was out. I sulked for a second then a thought came rushing into my mind. An unwanted thought because the thought meant I was inadequate, unprepared, unresourceful, less than, damaged, scum, worst-mother-on-the-face-of-the-planet. Oh, the self talk got much worse, but I'll spare you.
What was the thought? Parenting Books.
Parenting books! I know! I don't need parenting books. I've kept two kids alive this long, they know I love them, I spend time with them, I do nice things for and with them, I'm a pretty cool mom. Parenting books? Those are for people who beat their kids or have kids that beat them. Parenting books? That's not for me. Besides, if I read a parenting book, that just means that I admit...I......need.........(*gulp*)............help.
After that whole 0.5476 seconds of self talk subsided, I realized that I did need help. No, my child isn't terrible and neither am I, but I felt that if I didn't get a grasp on things now, I would never get a grasp on things later. I have wonderful parents, but I do remember fearing them at times. That's not what I want for my children. I want them to know that I will be firm with them AND I love them. I read someone's post on facebook one day: I love you too much to let you behave like that. I know...it's beautiful. That is the kind of discipline I want in my home, but I fear that I am headed down the same road my well-meaning parents went down.
So, back to the card catalog I went and typed in "parenting books". I scanned the titles and descriptions if there was one, and chose one I thought I could relate to: Mean Moms Rule: Why Doing the Hard Stuff Now Creates Good Kids Later
I found the book, pulled if off the shelf (man, 256 pages never felt so heavy), sat down in the sunlight on the new library's new pleather couch, and began to read.
I am a slow reader (I explain it as I read in my head how I would like to be read to; I was also a performer so I add a lot of fluff and expression so it takes a while), and I knew I wouldn't be able to finish it before the library closed at 5, but I stayed there in that seat for as long as I could and read nearly half the book. One of the librarians announced closing in 15-minutes, so I had to go up to the circulation desk a check it out.
Do you remember when you were a teenage girl and you had to buy certain products at the store every month or so and you tried to conceal those plastic packages as much as you could because you didn't want anyone to know what you were going through? Well, that's how I felt as I walked to the front of the library past all those good mommies with their good little boys and girls who were making final selections of Berenstain Bears and Dr. Seuss. I held the book so no one could read the title. What would others think of me...checking out a parenting book? What's wrong with her? Why doesn't she have enough motherly instinct to figure out her problems on her own? Oh, poor lady, she must have a really bad child. I didn't even want to think of what the librarian would think when she scanned the book. Luckily, we have, as I mentioned, a new library, and with it comes some really cool technology and so I was able to check out on my own. Crisis averted.
Only after coming home and facing my children and husband I'd run away from for 2 and a half hours did I realize that, yes, I do need some advice, and no, it's nothing to be ashamed of. What is to be ashamed of is when you're 60-something and your 30-somthing son is entering rehab or jail or starting a new job again because you didn't check a book out from the library 30 years ago. Ok, so that's a bit harsh, but I'm here now to nip this in the bud. Let me again reiterate that No.1 is not bad or troubled and I am not a terrible mother, but I know that we can both be better.
So, here's to a Better Mommy Me!
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