The new king

Oh how the mighty have fallen.

By the mighty I mean me. And when I say I have fallen, I mean, has parenting ever kicked my ass!

I tasted humble pie on the day Graham was born and apparently I can’t get enough. Since then I’ve gone back for more. And still more.

And just the other day I had yet another revelation: I realized I have become the kind of mother I swore I never, ever would become.

I have become the mother who gives in.

You know the kind. The mother who knows she should be a stronger disciplinarian but is so enamored of her child she can’t help but giggle when they are saucy. The kind who knows she shouldn’t coddle so much but nonetheless turns into a soppy puddle of goo at the first whimper. The kind who knows that it’s natural for a child to scream and cry at times but starts to twitch as soon as it starts and cannot bear it for more than a moment.

Sigh.

I’m well known as a bit of a hard-ass in other areas of my life. I do not suffer fools gladly. I refuse to accept poor customer service. In the course of my job, I have to discipline and fire people: I have done both countless times with steely determination. I do not seek confrontation, but neither am I the least bit afraid of it.

Before Graham came along I just assumed that when Rob and I had children, I would be the bad cop. Rob is a little more easy-going than I am, less routine-oriented. I actually worried that I might end up resenting the disciplinarian role I would be forced to assume.

Yeah, not so much.

You know it is bad when even Grandma and Oma are stricter with Graham than his mother is. But God help me, I’m a big ole softie when it comes to my boy.

Graham is my heart and he knows it. Mommy, mommy is like a siren song for me: I am helpless to resist and so I must go and do his bidding.

I must pull him from his bed for more one cuddle. I must hold him close and bury my face in his hair. I must press him to my heart and breathe in his sweetness, even as my rational mind tells me I should be stronger.

Oh yes, the mighty have fallen.

All hail the new king.

Humble pie - I'll have seconds

You know what's humbling?

Well, there is this.

But there's also this picture of Graham watching television.



That's right. Graham. Watching television.

It's humbling because it was only about four months ago that I had a letter published in the on-line edition of this newspaper decrying the launch of a new network for babies (which I still think is crap by the way) and proudly stating that I had never once turned on the television for my son.

And I hadn't. Then.

But in the last few months I have. A few times. A very few times. Mostly at times when I am struggling to get something posted. (It's your fault dear readers - you, I blame you!) Sometimes when I was just feeling lazy. (Bad mom, bad, bad mom!)

Right after that picture was taken?

I shut off the television.

I'm no longer quite as judgemental about television as I was four months ago, but damned if I can stand to see my 26-month-old son that engrossed in something that isn't (a) educational or (b) his mama's lovely face.

The post where I eat humble pie

Dear everyone in the world who became a parent before me,

I just want to say that I’m sorry.

I’m sorry that I thought you were all hypochondriacs.

I’m sorry that I secretly suspected you were getting sick all the time largely because you let yourself get run down and out of shape when you had kids. I’m sorry that I smugly assumed that good eating habits and regular exercise would somehow grant me immunity from my child/ walking germ factory, who I now know is but a foot soldier in an international army bent on biological warfare.

I'm an idiot.

And if it makes you feel any better, I’m an idiot who has been sharing the same cold with my husband for nearly two weeks now.

Consider my ass well and truly kicked.

Sincerely,

Don Mills Diva