Actually I am not so much whinin' about the kids themselves, personally, as I'm whinin' about the condition of bein' Mom to two small people, generally. Of course MANY people, including y'all, warned me that this adjustment'd be HUGE and make me want to pull my hair out.
(My hair, which if y'all could see it you'd immediately come to the same conclusion that I have, that the angry prairie dog has in fact finally found his way into my house and shimmies up the bedclothes to gnaw off hunks of my tresses in those otherwise fortunate few moments in the night that I fall into a drooling, comatose sleep.)
(I no longer have a mullet. I have a P-Dawg. At this point, makin' me pull my hair out may be the biggest favor my kids'll ever do me.)
Hello distractability and short-term memory loss! Hmm, now where was I?
Oh yes. The chiddren. Preppy Pettit asked yesterday if Bean's jealous of Peabody.
I'm gonna go with YES, but I think bein' just under 4 years old, Bean doesn't necessarily feel or express it as jealousy of the baby so much. Oh no, Bean places the blame where it ultimately belongs, squarely on the shoulders of the woman who produced the boy in question, Yours Truly. To wit, yesterday over lunch she directed a white-hot angry glare at me and asserted, "You need to move to another house."
"Why?" I asked innocently. (One day I will learn, people.)
"Because I don't want you HERE anymore. And NEITHER. DOES. DADDY."
I didn't know whether to laugh or cry, so I just went with a slump-shouldered blank stare, which of late is my default disposition anyway, and so required no effort on my part. Later, as I was snuggling her in her bed, I told her calmly that what she'd said had hurt my feelings and she replied, "Well, YOU can stay here, Mama, but the mean monster has to move."
And then, you know, I felt OH SO MUCH BETTER.
By contrast, Peabody would prefer I remain affixed to his personage at all times. In my waking hours, I am required to wear him vertically on my front in the Snugli or be subjected to first, his absolutely heart-breaking pouty face followed immediately by blood-curdling wails. Mostly I'm okay with this although I have to admit it seems strange to me that this person for whom standing on his head was the position of choice 8 weeks ago is now so resolutely determined to be upright and only upright.
But who am I to argue with Brutha Naycha?
So I wear him in the Snugli, all day long, just like I did his sister before him. And I rock and bounce to quiet him so much that it's become second nature. Heck, the other day I let a neighbor hold him when we were outside one afternoon and he started fussing, and I started rockin' and bouncin'. Another neighbor happened along right about then who's hard of hearing. After she'd stood there a few minutes, she looked around and asked, "Are you guys listening to some music that I can't hear?"
"No," we asked her, "Why?"
"Because Megan's dancing!"
Oh yeah. That.
I took both kids grocery shopping this morning.
I did. And Peabody cried, even though he was in his Snugli as directed, THE WHOLE COTTON-PICKIN' TIME. I don't know about y'all, but for me, the sound of my own child crying makes nails on a chalkboard sound like romantic violins playin' on the shore at sunset. Seriously. And he screamed. And screamed. People were staring at me with that, "Woman, what on earth did you do to that poor child?" look on their faces.
I'ma tell you right now, people, and I know you will be able to relate, that if I were a smoker? I'da forgotten all about the zucchini and the dishwasher soap and the coffee filters and I'da gone up to the VICES AND OTHER SUNDRIES counter and bought myself a carton of the strongest brand they had, sat down in a corner, stuffed a cigarette in every orifice and sat there puffing away until the authorities came and hauled me away.
But instead I bounced and I rocked, bought Bean some candy she picked out in the check-out line (which I HAVE NEVER DONE BEFORE) and paid for my groceries with great big tears in my eyes after she said, "Thanks Mama. You're the sweetest Mama EVER."
Amazing how that one little bribe-driven compliment after all that screaming and embarrassment was enough to completely undo me.
I do NOT feel like the sweetest Mama ever these days, to say the very least.
And we walked out to the parking lot, me sniffling, Peabody wailing, and Bean askin' me "Mama, can I just have a half a banana for lunch today? I need to save room for my candy that my sweet little Mama bought me."