The Devil Wears Baby Gap
So the big bad mystery virus turned into bronchitis. A regimen of doctor’s appointments, PediaCare, Motrin, Amoxicillan and eye drops has finally worked to chase the sickness from Muffin’s little body.
However, there’s something else that needs expulsion. And we might need a priest, a crucifix and some holy water for this one.
I knew that I was spoiling Muffin while she was sick. But what else can you do when they are feeling so terrible except try to distract them from their discomfort? If Elmo will put a smile on her face, then she shall have Elmo, even though Mommy will still be humming his irritatingly catchy rap about the number 5 a week later. If a binky will soothe her, bring on the overbite.
Of course, she can’t understand why the rules are different this week than they were last week. And she expresses that confusion in a series of unfortunate behaviors that range from mild whining to full-blown, could-result-in-complaints-from-the-co-op screaming fits. “Yogurt!” she sobs as if I’ve said no, even as I am reaching to get it for her. I tell her to ask nicely, and so she yells “Yogurt please!” even louder.
I believe that one of the hardest but most meaningful ways to love your kids is to place limits on their behavior. So the wild west days have to end. But how to get control again? Since she was sick, she wants her pacifier all day long, but since we are trying to eventually wean her from it altogether, the rule is that she gets it only when she is going to sleep. As she stood near her crib, trying to grab the pacifier I’d placed out of reach, I decided to wait her out. “I’ll be in the living room ready to read some books when you’re ready,” I told her, and then settled down to wait, sure that this episode would be over in 5 minutes or less. I am the boss, I am the boss, I chanted to myself. A half an hour later, with me offering everything but the kitchen sink in the paci’s place, she was still bawling and her breathing was ragged. I couldn’t take it any more, and I gave in. Exhausted from the bronchitis and pink eye I’d developed myself, my resolve was just too weak. Elmo was on less than 15 minutes later.
My nanny had an idea. “Elmo is taking a nap,” she told Muffin. It worked, so I’ve been using it ever since. I don’t really love the idea of lying to her but I’m desperate. And I’m proud of myself for not taking it further. I could have told her Elmo is dead – and I killed him.
However, there’s something else that needs expulsion. And we might need a priest, a crucifix and some holy water for this one.
I knew that I was spoiling Muffin while she was sick. But what else can you do when they are feeling so terrible except try to distract them from their discomfort? If Elmo will put a smile on her face, then she shall have Elmo, even though Mommy will still be humming his irritatingly catchy rap about the number 5 a week later. If a binky will soothe her, bring on the overbite.
Of course, she can’t understand why the rules are different this week than they were last week. And she expresses that confusion in a series of unfortunate behaviors that range from mild whining to full-blown, could-result-in-complaints-from-the-co-op screaming fits. “Yogurt!” she sobs as if I’ve said no, even as I am reaching to get it for her. I tell her to ask nicely, and so she yells “Yogurt please!” even louder.
I believe that one of the hardest but most meaningful ways to love your kids is to place limits on their behavior. So the wild west days have to end. But how to get control again? Since she was sick, she wants her pacifier all day long, but since we are trying to eventually wean her from it altogether, the rule is that she gets it only when she is going to sleep. As she stood near her crib, trying to grab the pacifier I’d placed out of reach, I decided to wait her out. “I’ll be in the living room ready to read some books when you’re ready,” I told her, and then settled down to wait, sure that this episode would be over in 5 minutes or less. I am the boss, I am the boss, I chanted to myself. A half an hour later, with me offering everything but the kitchen sink in the paci’s place, she was still bawling and her breathing was ragged. I couldn’t take it any more, and I gave in. Exhausted from the bronchitis and pink eye I’d developed myself, my resolve was just too weak. Elmo was on less than 15 minutes later.
My nanny had an idea. “Elmo is taking a nap,” she told Muffin. It worked, so I’ve been using it ever since. I don’t really love the idea of lying to her but I’m desperate. And I’m proud of myself for not taking it further. I could have told her Elmo is dead – and I killed him.
posted by Muffin's Mom at 9:25 PM
4 Comments:
bronchitis sounds serious...poor little thing!
I am chanting "I am the boss, I am the boss" too but I don't think I am convincing myself enough.
Sigh.
ok that last sentence made me laugh hysterically out loud. i'm still laughing. just wanted to tell you that. and, i'm so happy you figured out what was going on with muffin, but sorry to hear it was the ickiness it was... and that you caught it too! bleh! i hope both of you are 100% again faster than you can say, elmo took a little trip to Vegas. :)
Elisa forwards these to me. Hope you're saving them. You should write a book. It would make great comic relief for new moms. It brought back memories...especially the paci! Be careful, the rewards tend to get bigger. Ask Elisa how she got a dog when she was 8. I promise you, it's all worth it in the end!!
Even Elmo needs a nap once in awhile. It is hard work being so perky all the time.
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