Dude. Have I ever had a crazy weekend.
It started innocently enough, the regular Friday night things. I always order pizza on Friday nights and the delivery driver always can’t find my house. Always. V went night-nights like a charm, I munched out and planned my Saturday (which was going to involve Ikea and possibly breakie with Darling Cousin)
accomplished and we headed home for a nap (and a run for me). I thought V would take a nice long nap and so you can imagine my surprise when Little Man was up with Daddy in the kitchen.
Sweating and panting, I entered the kitchen to be welcomed by my Mother-In-Law on speakerphone. “Hi Jaime”. “Hi Fran”.
M announced, “So, during my shower, I was interrupted by a knock at the door. I thought it was you, Jame. Turns out it was V”.
Me: “What the hell?!?!”
M: “Mom, I’ve got to go. Jame doesn’t want you to hear the words she is about to use”.
I used some big, shocking words. Quietly, of course and also covering my son’s ears. I then followed M upstairs, while carrying V, and received a demonstration of V’s latest skill.
Holy shit was it ever the freakiest thing. Legs swinging like monkeys, twisting and manipulating that little body he squirmed his way up so his body was lying horizontal on the edge of the crib. Then, balancing on his ribcage, he slowly lowered himself. Jeeez-Us.
And so that was it. The death of the crib. Several calls to my handy Father-In-Law later plus one expensive trip to Target, we were set. Eclipse curtains, curtain rods, bed set. Check!
And then? Then Hell arrived at my house and settled down for the night.
That big bed was scary. And V didn’t want to try it out, not matter how fun and cosy it was. No matter that it still had all of his little night-time friends. And blankets. No matter, V was not interested in any of it.
He cried. Cried and cried and cried and cried. And cried. He cried so much that his hair was soaked. My shirt was soaked. Everything was soaked. And as the minutes passed, the sobs got more and more heartbreaking. By this time, we had moved on from the chair to the bed, where he sobbed and tossed back and forth on me. Because despite all of this crying, he was exhausted. And during all of this crying? His eyes were shut.
The sobs wound down and the gasping, sobbing breaths began. Gasping and sobbing right into Mumma’s chest. Finally, he settled down. I sneaked-crawled off the bed and called my Mum. And during the call, he started crying again. I snuck back in, comforted him and then snuck out when he settled in…
And then I called my Mum again.
Around 3:30 I was woken up by someone poking me in the face, saying “Naaaasss!!! (nose) Maaaasssssue! (mouth) Naaaaaase! Mumma! Mumma? Mumma!! Mumma naass! ” Lots of little fingers poked me all over the face and guess what? Suddenly I was awake. As I opened my eyes, my vision was obscured by a huge grin.
Little Man slept 8 hours in his bed like a big boy!!
And didn’t go back to bed for 2 1/2 more hours. And then only went back to sleep because I slept with him (around 5:30), and then woke up around 8 am. Thank you blackout curtains!!
So we managed. And even though I felt like I ripped my sons childhood out from under him and even though I made him cry until I thought my heart would wrench right out of my chest. And even though yesterday evening, I cried too because I felt like I hurt my boy. And I cried because childhood is a fast and fleeting thing, or so it seems last night to Mummy.
And then this morning? While V pointed out the parts of our face, name Daddy, Mummy, Chewie and then shyly added his name to the list of “Who’s that?”, childhood reappeared.
Oh my son, my little little man. Not my baby boo anymore, but my shy and charming toddler, I love you. And I am sorry.
But honey? Your big bed and you snuggled up in it’s messy blankets is the sweetest thing ever.
Love you, Mummy…
(and love you too a.m.)