Sometimes, it's cathartic to admit to the things that you keep deep down inside. It keeps you sane, because you know what? There's no way you're the only one who feels that way.
I confess that I'm jealous that you can bribe your child with a snack and I can't. In a crowded restaurant, or a grocery store, or on a long car trip - I wish that I could make life easier/better/quieter with a goldfish or a cheerio, but I can't. I wish that I could stop a tantrum mid-screech with a cookie, but I can't. Lukewarm (to avoid clumping) neocate just doesn't hold the same appeal to a wayward toddler, and sometimes I can't help but feel like I have nothing he wants.
I confess that I'm jealous that as you head into the second year of parenthood, you no longer have any reason to know (or care about) your child's height and weight to the inch and ounce on a daily basis. If I'm not worrying that he's too short, I'm concerned that he's gaining too much weight too quickly (I'm not even joking. My child has always been underweight and I can't tell you how many times I've wondered if he's starting to look "fat" - thank you very much, society).
I confess that I'm jealous that you can find a babysitter that wants to come back more than once, and that you don't have to describe the laundry list of terrible things that *could* happen, including seizures, asthma attacks, and anaphylaxis. I'm jealous that you don't have to demonstrate how to stick a large needle through your toddler's thigh in case he accidentally eats.
I confess that I'm jealous that you're living the life I thought I would be living. I'm jealous that I'm so jealous of you.
But you know what I have that you don't have?
This...
I confess that I'm jealous that you can bribe your child with a snack and I can't. In a crowded restaurant, or a grocery store, or on a long car trip - I wish that I could make life easier/better/quieter with a goldfish or a cheerio, but I can't. I wish that I could stop a tantrum mid-screech with a cookie, but I can't. Lukewarm (to avoid clumping) neocate just doesn't hold the same appeal to a wayward toddler, and sometimes I can't help but feel like I have nothing he wants.
I confess that I'm jealous that as you head into the second year of parenthood, you no longer have any reason to know (or care about) your child's height and weight to the inch and ounce on a daily basis. If I'm not worrying that he's too short, I'm concerned that he's gaining too much weight too quickly (I'm not even joking. My child has always been underweight and I can't tell you how many times I've wondered if he's starting to look "fat" - thank you very much, society).
I confess that I'm jealous that you can find a babysitter that wants to come back more than once, and that you don't have to describe the laundry list of terrible things that *could* happen, including seizures, asthma attacks, and anaphylaxis. I'm jealous that you don't have to demonstrate how to stick a large needle through your toddler's thigh in case he accidentally eats.
I confess that I'm jealous that you're living the life I thought I would be living. I'm jealous that I'm so jealous of you.
But you know what I have that you don't have?
This...
i love that picture of him!
ReplyDeleteThanks - he's my little ham!
DeleteI think it's so true that it's always better to talk about how you're feeling, because at least then there's a chance someone else will 'get it' and be supportive. After my second was born, I suddenly felt like I wanted to sell my 2-year-old, and when I discovered this was a 'normal' way to feel I almost instantly felt a little bit differently... I can't relate really to what you're talking about, but I think it's great when we can be truly honest as mothers to each other.
ReplyDeleteI think so too - honesty is always the way to go. There's always someone who can relate, at least a little :)
DeleteWhat an awesome photo. And while it wasn't anything near the extent to which you are accustomed on a daily basis, I know what it's like to have to worry about each ounce, and food in general. Thinking of you <3
ReplyDeleteThinking of you too, M. I hate that you can relate :(
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