Thursday, July 8, 2010


The last few weeks have been trying in our house.  We have a two year old who apparently is making an early bid of acting like a teenager.  We have been trying not to go crazy as we put up with/give in/stand strong against his antics.  Don't bother telling us that some of those exact reactions only encourage his behaviour.  We are still just working on controlling our own behaviors most of the time. 

At the end of the day, we all seem to hit the wall.  Lately, we have a bath rebel.  He doesn't want to take a bath.  After a short wrestling match struggle, usually we win and he gets into the tub.  Then ensues the struggle of getting him out of the tub. 

His bedtime routine has varied over the years.  Yes, we know, kids love routine.  Ideally, he would have a solid routine that would lead him to bed to sleep soundly ALL NIGHT LONG IN HIS BED.  That would truly be ideal.  Our kid is a realist.  So the reality is that we struggle to find a routine that he doesn't try to alter.  Right now, it includes rocking to lullabies for two songs.  Usually, by the time we make our way from school to play time to dinner to bath to bed, I am ready for a break.  I love to cuddle my child.  Yet, there are nights when his bed time can't come soon enough and cuddling him isn't my priority.  Stone me now.  Trust me, those stones won't do any more damage than the good dose of mommy guilt I give myself repeatedly for that realization.  Any parent worth their salt will admit they have at least felt this way once.  Any parent who hasn't...well, they win (and are probably lying!).

And here comes perspective.  When those lullabies seem to be dragging on as we rock our way into the night and I wait for him to concede he is ready to get into bed without a fight, I find my mind shifting.  It shifts to the land of guilt.  It takes me to a place with the kind of perspective that grabs your heart and shoves it up into your throat.  Most times, I can't keep the tears from welling up as I stop to consider all the parents who would give anything and everything to be rocking their child that night.  Instead, those parents are missing a child who is in Heaven.  Perspective.  My child is here with me and I owe it to every single one of those parents to slow down and love on him as much as possible.  Nevermind the fact that he is a miracle child and had his own near possibility of becoming a Heavenly Angel.  Perspective.  I hug him, squeeze him a little tighter, and kiss his head.  I am sure I know more mommies than I realize who would give anything to hug those Heavenly Angels.  I know two who constantly rush to my mind when I think that lost her baby due to a heart condition and another just lost her baby for no reason that was ever given but he was stillborn. 

I will rock my child tonight.  I will have perspective. 
God, please don't ever let me lose my perspective.

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