30 December 2012

Auld Lang Syne

One more day until we tip our hats and say fare thee well to 2012...ringing in 2013.  I don't know if it's the impending year end that has me feeling blue or the fact that we are already entering year 3 with our sweet sugarplum and has me wondering, where is the time going?

Today was a hard day.  I hardly write about the hard days...they aren't as much fun and I rather soon forget them asap.  But they happen.  They happen when we're cranky and have had too much time together.  They happen when we don't get our way and our stubborn Taurus instinct rears its nefarious head.  They happen for no reason at all. But man, do.they.happen.  

We've been off since the 21st, Garrett and I.  And we've left the house maybe twice. Why feel the need to always be somewhere, go places, when there's plenty to do at home and now, with all the snow, plenty to do outside?  But cabin fever has set in, and I think he's sick of me.  How do I know?  Because of the incessant asking for Daddy every five minutes.

Anyway, earlier today I had a moment that I've read countless times in some expert baby site that a parent (particularly emotionally frayed mom's) should never ever do in front of their tot...and that is show an emotion other than an even-keeled, cool, calm, and collected self.  I bawled. I don't even remember what triggered it.  Oh wait, yes I do.  I wanted to drink my coffee, savoring the delicious warmth, while watching my favorite Sunday morning show, CBS Sunday Morning, curled on the couch with a kitty or two, while my playful tot sat quietly nearby entertaining himself.  I haven't been able to watch it in ages.  Someone else wanted, no, demanded that he watch Sesame Street.   But he doesn't say Sesame Street, he says "I want Cook!" because Cookie Monster is his idol.  And the demand kept getting louder, more whiny and bossy.  And admittedly, something inside me just snapped and I started to cry.  No crocodile tears from this gal.  I'm talking full-on sobs, wracking through my whole self, and once I started, I couldn't stop. Briefly, though, in a split second of clarity, I do remember thinking to myself "Oh no! I'm scarring him for life by letting him see me react and cry!" Yeah, right.

And sometime during this spectacle, he got up, gathered his three favorite loveys (two Pooh bears and a well-worn Giraffe), and quietly brought them over.  He sat them next to me, got up on the couch, and put his arm around me, lightly patting my shoulder. Then, I heard the softest "Hi, Momma".  Of course this only made me cry harder.  I peeked at him through a glaze of salty tears and he was smiling at me.  I melted in my already slushy pool of despair. (For those wondering, Daddy was at work, and missed this delightful display of self-pity.)

Somehow I was able to compose myself, smile pathetically back at him, and gave him a hug.  Or rather, he hugged me and I just sort of clung to him.  Who's the needy one now?

Later, as we were watching "Cook", and he was standing there, counting along, singing by heart to his (and mine!) favorite skit of the number 4 with Feist , I reached a little perspective. These moments, like the early days of sleepless newbornhood, are fleeting.  These tantrums, moods, demands, etc. are all part of toddlerdom, the terrible two's so to speak...and one day, when he's grown up and living his own life, and mom is feeling blue once again, he probably won't be around to share his stuffies with me or pat me on the back with his precious little hand. 
Savor it! Relish it! As a wise friend mentioned recently, these moments are but a tiny blip in the long line of things we will go through and experience with our children. And in the grandest scheme of things, it's really not that bad.   

So on the eve of New Year's eve...while it's been a hard day, my wish is that the year ahead is filled with more recognizable precious moments, and less arduous ones.

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