What kind of Mother am I? Am I patient? thoughtful? forgiving? Loving? Enduring? Understanding? Awful? Short-tempered? Disciplined? Mean? Sharp-tongued? I found out last night.
Last night, was the night of Mother's day. It is a day, widely revered and celebrated as a mother get the day off kind of day. Mom lies in bed, mom gets flowers and gifts, mom gets rest. What did I get? I got a Powder compact (T.LeClerc, pressed powder, Abricot, lovely) and an early rise, the opportunity to bundle Martin into the car, off to the airport to drop Jason off so he could board a plane and leave. It was just like any other week-end day that Jason leaves me, and I am meant to spend the day trying to evade feeling unproductive because can get nothing done because of Martin, being annoyed and annoying by to to my mother. I hate when Jason leaves us on the weekends. It's really the only time we get to spend together. Why can't he leave during the week? This is when I skip town, typically on a Monday afternoon. Very seldom on a Sat, as a point of fact, I have done it twice. And both times I was very upset.
I am lucky that my job requires very little in the way of after hours commitment, including weekends. But on to my gripe, before I run out of steam.
Last night, was like any other Sunday night. I put Martin to bed, washed my hair, then put some clear nail polish on my bare nails. Got into bed at 10ish, began watching Kojak and reading a book, and Martin awakes.
I go into his room and rub his back. No. I pick him up and we glide. No. I bring him to bed. No. We walk. No. I put him back in his crib. No. I bring him back to bed. No. I finally lull him to sleep...three hours later. I am ashamed to admit what the No's mean. These represent times when I am hard and unforgiving of my small son and my husband. I am selfish, thinking only of my own comfort. I am short, and abrupt at my 11.9 months old son, as if he can understand why he is awake. As if he can control it. I try to nurse him, but it does not work. He unlatches and cries. He can sense that my heart isn't into the cuddling. The snuggling. The rubbing. I feel as if I am going crazy. Why won't you sleep, I ask him, angrily. What is wrong with you? Stop crying. I am going to put you into our own bed if you are going to cry. Back in his crib, I manage to catch a 10 minute power nap, until his cries become louder and more ardent. I wake up, rested but not refreshed, not any more forgiving. Just angry. I get him out of his crib, back into our bed. He still cries, squirms. I am raising my voice. Not yelling, but with a very strident tone, and e can sense my anger a cries louder. I am at the end of my rope. Then I see the look in his eyes. It's like he is asking me, why are you doing this? I don't know why I can't sleep. And just like like, the anger is gone, and I feel love again for my small son. I place him in between my legs, on his back and I begin massaging his tiny body and limbs, while shushing. He calms, then he sleeps.
I look at his sleeping face, and I am grateful that I have had this opportunity to discover what kind of Mother I am.
