But does it have to be so soon??

With Lilly in her second year of preschool, I’ve learned a little bit about letting go – the good and the bad. Watching my little girl walk confidently into a new classroom and make friends immediately: good. Choking back tears and prying her hands off of me as she begs me not to leave on the mornings when she really doesn’t want to go: bad.

Still, I know the good outweighs the bad at this stage in Lilly’s life. But Henry? My sweet little Henry? Do I have to? According to my husband, who is tired of being kept awake by baby snores and cries just a couple inches from our bed, yes. Yes I do. Alright, alright, the pediatrician says it’s time for him to move to his own room too. And I know it’s true if I want either – or any – of us to get decent sleep in upcoming months. But, simply put, I just don’t want to.

Now, I should sincerely apologize to those moms and dads whose various work leaves expire around this time and they have to let go in a much more severe way. I do not mean to sound like a spoiled, ungrateful SAHM. But another universal of parenting is that all things are relative. So, for me, moving Henry to another room is my first big “letting go.” And I don’t want to.

The thing is that it’s just easier to let go as they get older. Lilly is ready to be on her own, playing with her peers rather than mommy. She asks to go to school on most days. And while she still gives me lots of good cuddles that I will crave like crazy in ten years (if not much sooner), there are also times when she rebuffs my affection. I’m letting go, but she’s pulling away also. If I don’t let go, there’s attitude and tantrums.

But with Henry, not so. He doesn’t want me to let go yet either. The protests come when I let go, not the opposite.

No, no, Mommy! Hold me more! Smile at me more! Snuggle with me more!

I’ve been trying to will myself to this transition for a while now. It all boils down to this: Henry is my baby. The baby of my babies. Almost definitely my last baby. I’ll never have those sweet baby snores inches from my bed again after Henry. So, I’ve been dragging my feet. I had to find just the right monitor; I blamed his reflux (the crib’s too flat!); and, ultimately, I flat out refused to be rushed.

But it’s time. I’ve known it all week. We are keeping each other awake and sleep training must begin. So I’ve been waiting for the right time. I needed a little bit of something, a little something special, to tell me it’s ok. The perfect night if there is such a thing, so that I can look back and feel I truly appreciated what I had when I had it. Last night was that night.

One of the things I’ll miss the most when he’s in the crib is reaching over and calming him with just a touch of my hand and the occasions when he actually holds my hand as we drift off to sleep. So last night when Henry began fussing I tried to seize the moment. I reached over to the bassinet to pat his tummy as he so enjoys, but he was just a bit too far away. Alas, my hand was left dangling over the side of the bassinet just inches from my baby but unable to reach him. He was calming on his own so I didn’t dare disturb him by pulling the bassinet closer. Then, just as I resigned myself to simply listening to his sweet baby sounds, a little hand reached up, grabbed my pinky and held it tight. And we both drifted off to sleep. . . not letting go. It was perfect.

I’m out of excuses. Tonight, I let go.

Maybe you were in Target and saw a kid throwing a total fit because he wanted a box of Goldfish crackers that his mom was refusing and thought, “Geez, lady, just give him the crackers. What’s the big deal?” Or maybe she did give him the crackers to prevent making even more of a scene and you thought, “Nice. You’re just teaching him that the best way to get what he wants is to throw a tantrum!”

It happens all the time. I’m guilty of it too even though I really do try to live and let live – a resolution that gets even stronger each time I catch a judgmental eye from someone somewhere and I just want to turn around and say, “F*#% you. When was the last time you spent a day with a 3 year old? Then shut up.”

I said I want to say that. I wouldn’t actually say that.

In front of Lilly.

That would just spur more judgment.

See, you’re doing it right now, right?!

Anyway, my point is it’s all very black and white from the outside. Not so much from the inside. When you are the parent – especially a stay at home parent – your whole day is a matter of choosing your battles. Some are worth the scene at Target, some are not. Sometimes it’s because it’s a lesson that really needs to be learned. Sometimes it’s because your day has been difficult enough and a box of Goldfish crackers is a battle you’re willing to lose to get through the next 10 minutes. As an outsider, you don’t know which it is. And you don’t care.

And guess what? Chances are the mom (or dad) really doesn’t care what you think. So approach (or glare) with caution.

I think this is a hard lesson for new parents — getting to that point of not caring. But you have to get there. Because at the end of the day . . . or the shopping outing as the case may be . . . you are the one that deals with the consequences, whether they are immediate or long-term. It’s your problem or victory. So if you are going to let a total stranger — or an overly assertive non-stranger — tell you that your parenting instincts are wrong when they really don’t have a clue, then you better at least get a phone number so that you can make an I-told-you-so phone call, when they  are wrong. Otherwise, I’m pretty sure you’ll implode by your child’s first birthday.

Or maybe that’s just me.

I bring this up because the other judgment you have to learn to live with as a parent is self-judgment. We all think about how we will do things “when I’m a parent.” We judge what our parents did right and wrong — with a completely unbiased view, of course. We observe tantrums in stores, crying babies on airplanes, bullies on the playground and we decide then and there: That will not be me.

But sooner or later, in one form or another, if you have a kid, that is you.

I work hard on my parenting style. I’m not perfect. I make mistakes. But I try very hard to determine the best ways to handle common situations and then execute a plan that was made before my emotions got involved. And to be consistent. That’s not always possible, but it’s what I try to do.

Generally, I think I do a good job. And the end result, I think, is a child who is mostly happy with a good sense of what “the rules” are. But there are days, particularly when 8 months of pregnancy is taking its toll, when keeping emotions out of my reactions is nearly impossible. Days when Lilly’s demands for the exact opposite of whatever I am saying make me want to rip my hair out. Days when nap time can not come soon enough and if it doesn’t go smoothly it is all I can do to not cry and start begging her to please just sleep so that Mommy can get a break already!

Early on in my SAHM career, it was those days when self-judgment became almost unbearable. Oh my god, I raised my voice at her! She was just acting her age! It’s not her fault I got up on the wrong side of the bed! I’m a terrible mother!

Having worked my way through the initial emotional response, I would do the only thing “the experts” said I could do: apologize to Lilly and let her know that Mommy makes mistakes too.

Now, 3 years into this career path, I still have those days. And I certainly make my apologies when necessary. But more and more there are days when I just let myself off the hook. I don’t mean I make excuses for unfairly overreacting. I mean that I’m just better at choosing my battles.

So when last week I saw the naptime battle approaching and I knew I didn’t have the emotional bandwidth for it, priorities started changing real fast when each step met with opposition.

Get Lilly upstairs for nap: preferably

Get her in a pull-up: definitely

Get her on the potty first: nope, that’s what the pull-up is for

Deny her whatever toy she wants in bed: nope, not unless it could kill her

Get her to sleep in her room, rather than mine: not this time

Get her to sleep in the bed when she insists the laundry is her nest: Hm, I did not anticipate this one.

I had to wing it. But the end result was a 2 hour nap with no more fussing.

I just wish I could say that was the clean laundry.

Some advice is good. Some is ridiculous. Some comes from well-intentioned people, some from people who just want to tell you you’re wrong — about everything, always. It comes from parents, non-parents, store clerks, co-workers, random passersby. It amazes me the effort that people will go through to tell a complete stranger what they think.

I recall stopping at Starbucks on my way home from one of my last doctor’s appointments during my pregnancy with Lilly. (For those who will chime in with advice about caffeine during pregnancy, I was getting a snack and a non-caffeinated drink.) It was the week of my due date by this time. I felt huge, uncomfortable and irritable. But the doctor had just given me the ok to wait one more week rather than induce. She said the baby looked good; my weight-gain was perfect — not too much, not too little. I was in good spirits.

Then, as I was picking up my order, the woman ahead of me turned to me and said, “Oh when are you due?” Having had this conversation more times than I could tolerate by this stage of pregnancy, I answered simply, “now.”

She then proceeded to try to convince me that I actually was not 9 months pregnant as my doctor and modern science had thoroughly confirmed. When I pointed out that I was pretty sure I knew more about my pregnancy than she did, she then went on to scold me for not gaining enough weight and warned me that I was not healthy and I really should talk to my doctor about that. This, I believe, falls into the ridiculous category.

It also, by the way, falls into the “you deserve whatever wrath befalls you when you mess with a 9 month pregnant woman” category.

But the truly unfortunate consequence of everybody offering themselves up as an expert on child-rearing is that occasionally people offer good advice that sadly falls to the wayside purely as a byproduct of advice overload. And then one day it bites you in the butt and you say, “Oh yeah, so-and-so warned me about this. She was right. I should have listened.”

A prime example of this in my life is my sister’s advice to “never ever let your child know that you can hear them through the bathroom door.” Man, I really should have listened to that piece of wisdom. But I didn’t. And I’m reminded of my mistake every time I call through the bathroom door to Lilly’s “Mama, where are you?” Because without fail, the next step is Lilly barging in and promising to “help keep your privacy” — and by that she means she’ll keep me company.

Or if I’m really lucky she’ll allow me to sit in the bathroom by myself with the door closed. For a moment. Then when the workmen renovating our other bathroom are just a few feet away, she’ll yell, “Mommy! You on the potty! Are you going poo poo?” At this point I drop my head in my hands and wonder if it’s not too late to take my sister’s advice.

Then, just in case the guys still working upstairs didn’t hear it, Lilly yells, “MOMMY YOU GOING POO POO! YOU GET A STICKER!”

Yep, too late.

In the last month, Lilly has begun fully embracing her tw0-ness and quickly and abruptly entered The Age of “Why?”.  I just as quickly and abruptly became my mother. Phrases like “because I said so” and “because I’m the boss” began pouring out of my mouth (and, to be fair, Elliott’s also).

I have to admit that this was one of those phases of motherhood that I completely underestimated. Before this last month, I heard many a mother complain about the incessant “whys” of their children and wondered what the big deal was. It was cute. Better yet, it shows intelligence. What is better than a curious child? What a privilege to teach a willing student! I cringe to think this now, but I even looked forward to hearing Lilly question me and all of her surroundings. Silly me. Live and learn, live and learn.

What I didn’t anticipate was the completely nonsensical and utterly cyclical line of questioning that comes with this inquisitive period. I was fully prepared to answer (and google, when necessary) all varieties of questions on nature, mechanics, biology, human relationships, and any other topic you might see pop up on Jeopardy!. Frankly, I’m still good with those topics. It’s the questions without answers that get to me.

Case in point. This was the conversation I had with Lilly last night as I fished a piece of hot dog out of her milk.

Now don’t drop another hot dog or any other food in your milk.

Why?

Because it’s bad manners.

Why?

Because it is.

Why should I not drop hot dog in my milk?

Because I’m not getting it out next time.

Why?

Because if you don’t want hot dog in your milk, don’t put it in there.

Why?

Because I said so.

Why you said so?

Because I did.

What is ‘because I said so’?

It means the answer to the question why is because I told you so.

Why?

Because I’m the boss, Lilly.

[Lilly drops green bean in her milk.]

And then there was the highly intellectual conversation we had leaving the pediatrician’s office the other morning as I was putting Lilly into her carseat.

Is this our car?

Yes.

It is?

Yes, this is our car.

Is that our car? [pointing to the car next to us]

Nope.

Why?

Because this is our car.

Why?

Because it is.

Why?

Because we bought this car, not that one. [quickly closing the car door before the next why.]

It’s kind of funny. Until you’re on your 8th hour of the day this way. So I’m sorry to say, I am now one of those mothers, like my own, who resorts to the use of “because I said so” on a daily, if not hourly basis.

Worse still, I have also adopted a phrase from my mother that was the bane of my existence in childhood: “we’ll see.” She wasn’t fooling anybody with her “we’ll see” to my every “Mom, I want a ______.” We both knew the deal: “We’ll see” = “no”. Plain and simple. But, I admit, I see it’s appeal now. It leaves just enough possibility open to end the whining and begging — sometimes. Well, at least with a toddler who hasn’t quite caught onto the ruse.

I suppose a simple “no” would be more forthright, but it also elicits an all-out meltdown. And, in my defense, there often is a possibility that I will grant Lilly’s request even after my initial “we’ll see”, but not always, and it’s not always a good possibility. But, we’ll just have to see, won’t we?

Then there’s the physical transformation into my mother. Not only do I hear her words coming out of my mouth now, but I’m acting like her also. I can remember complaining to my mom as we crossed streets because her method of holding my hand was more of an arm-twist that one might encounter in a mugging. I couldn’t understand how this was keeping me safe when it felt like my hand was about to crumble into a million pieces and my wrist was about to snap.

Now? Makes perfect sense. I find myself doing the exact same thing to Lilly every time I’m holding her hand in a parking lot or crossing a street. Broken hand? Arm in a splint? I can live with that. Hit by a car? Absolutely not! Not on my watch!

And I’m only navigating the relatively minor traffic of parking lots and side roads in Louisville, Kentucky. My poor mom was dragging me across major boulevards in Queens, N.Y. If our roles were reversed Lilly might find herself in a sleeper hold as I sprinted across the street. Sure, it might cut off oxygen to her brain temporarily, but she’d get to the other side of street. And that’s what matters.

She’ll understand one day. Probably around the time her first child is two and a half.

Enter guilt.

Yes, if you’ve read any of my posts about motherhood or life, you know I am nearly always fraught with guilt over one thing or another. So I was relieved to the point of giddiness when I stumbled onto “31 Reasons You Shouldn’t Feel Mom Guilt” just moments after my guilt reflex kicked in. Numbers 12 and 29 had me laughing out loud. Enjoy!