It would be great if someone could find me a job that involved sitting on my couch while taking naps and maybe taste testing Girl Scout cookies a few times a week. I am fucking exhausted. There are about ten thousand hours of TV recorded on our DVR at the moment—shows that we used to watch religiously after Charlotte went to bed at night. Except Charlotte never goes to bed at night anymore (or so it seems) so by the time she actually does fall asleep, we’re usually asleep, too. The same goes for naps (when she will take them.)
She’s lucky she’s cute, because we feel like the walking dead and I’m pretty sure we’re just going through the motions to get to the point where she is either a) old enough to watch our shows with us, b) no longer living at home, or c) sleeping like a normal human being.
She wakes up screaming a lot. Sometimes in the middle of the night (we’re thinking night terrors), but often, she just wakes up in the morning or from a nap and freaks the fuck out for whatever reason. This morning, I slipped into the shower before Catch left for work, and as I emerged from the shower to grab my towel, I was greeted by the screams of my child. “I NEED BIG MAMA! I DON’T WANT LITTLE MAMA! GO AWAY LITTLE MAMA! AAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH! HOW DARE YOU FUCKING LOVE ME OR TRY TO CONSOLE ME!”
I swooped in wearing my damp towel expecting to save the day with my presence, and was greeted with, “I NEED BIG MAMA TO GO PUT A SHIRT ON! AHHHHHHHH!!!!”
I left to go put a shirt on. “I NEED BIG MAMA TO COME BAAAAAAAACCCCKKKKK!”
I put on a damn shirt and returned to her room where I was instructed by the tiny sobbing dictator to “LIE DOWN RIGHT HERE.” I obeyed. She started screaming at me about my feet. “I NEED BIG MAMA TO PUT YOUR FEET ON THE BED!” Um… okay? They are on the bed. I think? “NOOOOOO!!! I NEED YOUR FEET ON THE BED!” Fuck. My. Life. I ask her to show me what she would like me to do with my feet. She reaches over and shoves my legs clear off the bed. Okay, then.
Are you confused by all of this Big Mama / Little Mama business? Yeah, we were too. Charlotte has decided that mommy/mama will not fly in her two-mom household. We are now Big Mama (me) and Little Mama (Catch). Whatever floats your boat, kid. It’s a good thing your moms have a sense of humor. At least we know who the hell she’s talking about now when she’s screaming in the middle of the night. (Big Mama. Always. What a privilege that is. <–sarcasm)
It is amazing that you can love someone so much when they legitimately find joy in torturing you. Is parenthood just an understated version of Stockholm syndrome?
At this point, our lives are about 30% staring at our incredible child in wonder and amazement, 30% wishing our incredible child would just fucking sleep, 30% worrying about providing for our incredible child, and 10% contemplating whether they offer boarding school for toddlers.
She is incredible, though. In every sense of the word. Absolutely incredible.