I always felt like my son and I had an unspoken understanding. I like to imagine that in the final seconds before he was born God sweetly whispered to Oliver, “be good for your mommy, she needs your help.”
Throughout the past three years my husband was more of the “mama bear” in the house since he had to carry him and help with the things I couldn’t do. Oliver tends to give him a hard time on things that he easily does for me. I’m not sure why but it gets frustrating.
Last Friday my husband had a fairly serious ear surgery - removing a cyst/tumor-like growth and rebuilding bones, using a drill, etc. You can imagine how his head and ear felt after all that. As we came home from the hospital and he landed on the couch, I began my brief journey with solo parenting.
Let me start by sending any single moms out there a hug..and a nap…it’s exhausting!
My husband was around but he was in pain, tired, medicated and under strict orders to rest and not lift anything.
One night Oliver asked my husband to lift him and he said he couldn’t. Then Oliver said, “mama you can’t carry me, you’re too short.” This was the first time he verbally recognized that I don’t carry him. His reason behind it still makes me grin…I know I’m no giant but sheesh, 5’1 isn’t THAT short…
Since he turned three it seems as if he has learned a few new tricks.
He likes to negotiate.
He knows he can out run me.
He knows I can’t grab him and carry him away when he’s acting up.
Day one of getting him ready for daycare involved major drama getting him dressed. He wanted to chill in his jammies and stay home with dad. Once we got outside to the car, he ran to the other side of the car wanting me to chase him around the car. Knowing it was a battle I’d never win, I just opened his door and stood there surfing Facebook on my phone until he got bored.
The next day came with an instant replay of getting dressed. My husband was trying to help which just made it worse. By the time it came to the final battle of getting on his jacket, I was feeling like a sweaty mess. I threw my coat on the ground while trying to put on his coat. After getting him set, he managed to trip on my coat…fall…hit his head and major waterworks followed.
Shoot me now.
I was insanely happy to go to work. Almost giddy.
That night when I picked him up I was hoping for a clean slate and some much needed mercy. He followed me to the car like an angel. He climbed in great. After that it all went downhill. He refused to sit in his car seat. In the awkward cramped car I didn’t stand a chance of pulling him up into the seat and buckling him in without his cooperation. It was dark, cold and I just wanted to go home. So I stood there in his door while he sat in the front seat refusing to get buckled up. I have no idea how long it took but eventually I outmatched him and he made his way back to his seat.
As time passes the challenges change. The days of dealing with carrying a car seat are gone. No more changing diapers. The new battles are totally easier on the pride because in the end I WILL win but are emotionally exhausting.
AMC mommies out there…what have you experienced?