I've been feeling the need to update this blog with something besides the rather boring news about fabric and baby blankets. However, since my life has lately consisted only of nursing, cleaning the SAME messes up over and over again, and only occasionally interrupting these two activities with such exciting adventures as "jackhammering monsters" and "hiding from weasels," I have nothing recent to write about. So I thought I'd write about a very blog worthy event that happened some time ago - around about the time I started this blog: my worst mom moment.
Moses was probably about 2 and still sleeping in his crib. He had just entered the phase that you all know about - the phase of prolonging bed time as long as humanly possible. Every night he couldn't go to sleep for one or more of the following reasons "I need another song," "I need a drink of water," "I need another hug," "I had a bad dream" (while awake, nonetheless!), and my personal favorite: "something's boddering me."
Brett was out for the evening and I had finally given Moses one last drink, hug, and song, and assured him I would not come into his room again until morning. About 10 minutes later I heard him start whining: "I need a hug..." Resisting my motherly urge to give in, I steeled myself and went about my business. I cleaned the kitchen and started sewing, all to choruses of "I need a hug," which continued to emanate from the bedroom. I kept telling myself to hold strong - I just had to be more stubborn than him and eventually he would learn that he couldn't manipulate me into coming back into that bedroom. I had already given him about 10 hugs and he was only saying this because he didn't want to go to sleep. After about 15 minutes, however, I was feeling frazzled. "I need a hug. I need a hug. I need a hug!" I couldn't stand it any more. I went to the bedroom door and paused to collect myself and figure out how I was going to handle the situation. As I stood there I managed to get one last really good listen to what my son was saying: "MY KNEE IS STUCK!"
In my defense, those two phrases sound really similar when said out loud through a wooden door. Try it - you might feel a little less disgusted with me.
I ran into the room, and sure enough, his leg was jammed between the crib slats. It was so stuck, in fact, that I had to get into the crib myself and bodily pry the two slats apart before freeing his leg. I felt terrible. I still feel terrible. Actually, I'm not sure why I just retold that story. I'd love to hear your bad mom moments - maybe they'll make me feel better!