I’m not a mean mom, I’m really not, so please don’t give me that heart-broken look when you try to eat the television remote control, the dog’s toys, my make-up compact, one thousand Gerber Puffs at once, or pull the hair straight out of my head. I simply cannot let you do this. It’s not because I don’t love you, I love you so very much, but I can’t let you do these things, because I don’t want you to get hurt, sick, or leave me bald.
I’m tired. I’m really, really tired, kid. Not to be harsh, but it’s all because of you. In the very beginning, I didn’t sleep at all, and sometimes when I think back to when you were two weeks old until you were about four months old, I shudder. I shudder, because I was so very tired back then, so exhausted that I was practically comatose. I would fall asleep, sitting up while I fed you in the Boppy pillow. One time I even started dozing off as I was putting mascara on. Silly me, I thought the nights of interrupted sleep were far behind us, but lo and behold, you started teething. Everything changed when you started teething, and when you discovered that it’s fun to wake up in the middle of the night and play in your crib. Sweet child o’ mine, please say you’ll start sleeping again real soon, because I haven’t had a decent night’s sleep since mid-December.
When I take you places in the car, and you behave like the sweetest boy in the universe that you are 95% of the time, I feel like a super-mom that can conquer anything. I have endless energy to play, entertain, and teach you things. To the contrary, when you scream nonstop in the car while I’m driving, and when I’m desperately trying to get you to calm down in the car when I’m driving, sometimes even singing Part of Your World a capella and/or tossing pacifiers and toys back to you in hopes that one might land in your car seat and get you to stop crying, but you don’t stop crying, and I find there’s nothing I can do to get you to stop crying, so I debate whether I should pull over, but pulling over is never really a safe option, so although it breaks my heart to let you cry, I tune out the crying, and try to safely get us to wherever we’re going, so that when we finally get to where we’re going, I can jump out of the driver’s side door like a mad woman and finally comfort you. Phew. Is my exhaustion and despair felt through that run-on sentence? If the answer is yes, than please go easy on me, and stop crying in the car, will ya?
The nasal aspirator should be your friend. I know you think of it as a torture device, and I feel terrible about that. When you see me coming with it, you flail wildly about, sometimes screaming and always squirming. You fear it, but I wish you understood that I’m only using it, because I want you to be able to BREATHE. If you can breathe, than you will feel so much better. Trust me.
If you’d give me, like, ten minutes on the rare morning that I wake up before you do, would you please let me enjoy a cup of coffee in solitude? If you would, I would be forever grateful.
I know you hate getting dressed. I hear you loud and clear, even if you can’t tell me with your words. The thing is, the more you wiggle, the longer it takes to get the buttons fastened, so please don’t be surprised when getting dressed drags on and on for both of us. Did you know that part of my New Years resolution was to only buy sleepers with zippers?! You’ve scarred me from buttons! Buttons! I never thought I’d look at buttons with such dread, but well, I do.
I’ll have you know, I used to be cool. I know by default, just the fact that I’m your mom, I’ll never be cool, but that doesn’t mean that I’ll stop trying to convince you. If you should ever read this blog, please be informed of all my coolness credentials: I’ve walked down the rainy streets of New York City on a spring day with the sun just peaking through the clouds while listening to Fleetwood Mac. I’ve ridden on a bus through the middle of Grenada on a breezy and sunny day while listening to Morrissey. I’ve walked down the snowy streets of Brooklyn in the dead of winter with a coffee in hand while listening to The Boxer by Simon and Garfunkel on repeat, even though I was freezing, and even though I wasn’t wearing gloves or a hat. Your dad and I rode horses through the Ulupalakua Ranch, the most beautiful wild land of Maui, long before you were merely a twinkle in our eyes. We also lived in a shoebox in Grenada for two years, in a beautiful brownstone in Park Slope, Brooklyn for two years, and now Queens. We had lots of adventures before you came into our lives.
Maybe sometime I tell you about it all? That is, once you’re old enough to understand.
Can I take a quick moment to ask my loyal readers to take a look at my Kindle Scout campaign? I have been selected as a candidate for a Kindle Scout publishing contract for the first novel I wrote, THE E̶X̶T̶R̶A̶ORDINARY LIFE OF ANNIE OAKLEE. It’s a really great opportunity that I’m really excited about, but I need your nominations to get noticed! Once I get enough nominations, it will hopefully get me on the “Hot and Trending” list, which will make me more visible to the people working behind the scenes at Kindle Scout. I need to stay on their radar, so please visit the link, and click “Nominate Me”.
If you really enjoy the chapter excerpts, would you mind sharing the link? I need all the votes I can get. Thank you!
Here’s the link: https://kindlescout.amazon.com/p/35BE8YEEZ1AAB