The Most Worstest Mother in the Ever

I am a horrible, horrible mother.

And I am being punished for my horribleness with tag-team extreme sleep deprivation.

What was my mothering crime? What warranted such hideous and horrendous punishment?

Allowing my children to cuddle in bed with me when they wake up at way-too-dark in the morning.

Last night, in addition to being horrible, I was also just plain stupid: couldn't fall asleep at a reasonable bedtime, so I stayed up late watching crappy TV. Climbed into bed around midnight.

Silly Mommy! Midnight is for college students!

First wake up was 12:45am. Chelsea. Wants to cuddle with me because her leg hurts. I zombie-walk her back to bed. Five minutes later, she's back, crying now because she can't sleep on her own. I give her medicine for her leg and whisper-yell at her to stay in bed. Five minutes later, she's back AGAIN because of course she is. The medicine is not working, she says. Now I have steam coming out of my ears and I threaten her within an inch of her life that if she does not stay in bed SANTA WILL NOT COME.

I finally get back into my bed, wide awake in my fury.

Next thing I know, it's 2am. Savannah needs her blankets fixed. I zombie over to her room, do a quick adjustment of covers, and try to leave. She begins to scream at me to stay. I pull out the big guns: "The DOCTOR says you have to go to sleep on your own. Mommy can't stay."

And dammit if it doesn't work! More cries of 'tay! Peese, Mommy! 'tay!

Now I'm whisper-yelling at her, too. Threatening to close her door if she keeps yelling. I stumble back to bed and tell Jeremy that they will never let me sleep again. He tells me it's my own damn fault and that I should just let them cry it out. (Which works great for him, 'cause guess who can sleep right through both of his children crying? Hint: It's not me!)

Next wake up: 4am. Honestly, I can't even remember who it was. Maybe I dreamed it?

Next wake up that I can recall: 5am. Chelsea again. This time, she just can't go back to sleep on her own. There is no mention of the phantom leg pain. I steer her back to bed, all the while whisper-screaming at her NOT to WAKE her SISTER.

5:45am. Chelsea is back! Again! OMFG. I snatch her up, plunk her down at the kitchen table, stick a bowl of oatmeal in front of her and go back to bed.

As I'm lying there fuming and definitely NOT sleeping, I can hear Savannah start to wake up.

Fuck.

Chelsea comes to bother me in my bed yet again, and I send her to her room to play or read or I really don't care what just keep your door shut.

Now Savannah's awake. I give her the kitchen table and oatmeal treatment and she just sits at the table and whines. I add milk to the menu (which is usually her great weakness) and get more whining.

Luckily, Jeremy comes home from the gym at this point with a bag of bagels. Savannah gets to cover her face, fingers, and much of the table in cream cheese and she is finally happy.

It is awfully quiet in Chelsea's room. I go peek and she's in bed, fast asleep.

It's now 6:30am. I've gotten a worse night of sleep than most mothers of newborns. And "furious" barely covers the level of rage that I'm stewing in.

My father-in-law told me recently that when you point your finger at someone else, notice that three of your fingers are pointing back at you.

I know this bad sleep is my fault. My fault for letting my babies cuddle in bed with me. It kills me that in order to fix this behavior I have to stop doing something that doesn't feel like horrible mothering.

It feels like loving them so much that I want to hold them forever. And knowing that the time will come, too soon, when they won't want to cuddle up to their mom in the night.

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Mother's Naptime Rant, in Three Acts

Act 1
Mobility is so overrated. Now that Savannah can sort of get around on her own, she's even harder to get to sleep than before. Lately when I put her down, she immediately backs up into a sitting position and cries. I know she'll eventually lie down and sleep. Today I went in to check on her and she's standing up hanging on to the top of the crib rail and wailing. I lie her back down. She sits back up. I leave. Go back in to check on her again? Now she's on her knees trying to recreate her performance from earlier. I give up.

Act 2
How is it possible that BOTH children are head-noddingly sleepy in the car at 12:30pm and I have to shout songs at them to keep them awake on the way home... yet they are still wide awake at 1:30pm after lying (or sitting, standing, or kneeling) in their beds for half an hour?

Act 3
Why, why, WHY does the gardening service that comes to our apartment building to mow our ridiculously small stretch of grass with the loudest riding mower on Earth have to come every week DURING NAPTIME? (Not that my children are sleeping or anything...).

Fin
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Universe: You Cannot Thwart Me!

Dear Universe,
As you know, I have recently started a running program. Why are you so intent on messing with my plans? You should know the insane power of my will. Witness the two children who came into the world on exactly the day I intended. Because I willed them to do so. So, again, why are you trying to subvert my plans? Let's review the score so far.

Day One: You send me too-small shoes and too-sore boobs. Too easy, Universe! I buy new shoes and wear three bras.
Score: Me: 1, Universe: 0

Day 2: I plan to bring the kiddies to the YMCA to do my run, but you give them both runny noses preventing me from passing them off as healthy at the Y daycare. No problem, I run after dinner when their daddy is home to watch them.
Score: Me: 2, Universe: Zip

Day 3: You turn our 5-hour drive to Maine into a 10-hour marathon. I counter by planning to run a day late. We will be staying at Acadia National Park, so I plan to simply walk out the door and run through the glory of nature. But you inconveniently place our temporary abode at the top of a giant hill. Now I'm starting to get pissed. Jeremy suggests that I go run on the nearby carriage roads. Aha! I've bested you again, Universe! I drive there (one minute away down the giant hill), get out of the car, tie my little key to my shoe, only to see that you have placed a sign at the entrance: "DO NOT ENTER. Carriage Roads temporarily closed." Touché, Universe. But I am still too crafty for you! I head into Bar Harbor and run through the empty streets! Hah!
Score: Me: 3, Universe: Zilch

Day 4: Now you are really messing with me. You make Savannah sleep for 6 hours straight so that I wake up feeling all peppy and refreshed, thinking that you have finally given up. Then? You give me mastitis. Are you kidding me with this? I run anyway. I chant the whole time to myself, "Running cures mastitis, running cures mastitis." I tell myself that at least the throbbing in my boob takes my mind off the fact that I hate running. I still win, Universe!
Score: Me: A million, bazillion. Universe: NOTHING!!!

Today is Day 5 and you send me another longer-than-long drive back home from Maine. Guess what, Universe? I will run tomorrow.

The point is this, Universe: Quit messing with me. I cannot be stopped!

Sincerely,
Heidi

PS I wasn't even going to mention the part where you made me forget to pack my neatly typed running plan AND took away my internet access so I couldn't even search for the attachment that I sent a friend, but you leave me no choice! I had to call a friend in New York to log into my email over the phone. You even tried to leave me with no paper or pencil. I wrote with crayon! On the information sheet from the new potty!!! TKO, Universe. TKO.

Easy Money

I just saw this article on Yahoo's homepage about how to have $1 million dollars at retirement based on one year of savings. Guess how much you have to save in that one year? Just the measly sum of $20, 500! Oh, and you have to be 26 years old. Woops! The author shows how you can achieve the million-dollar mark at later ages, by saving that amount for 2 or more years. Simple, yes? Not so much. Here's my letter to the author of this piece.

Dear Mr. Saletta,
I've just read your article and I'm disappointed that you seem to be out of touch with the financial reality of so many Americans today. You rightly recognize that it is unrealistic to expect a 26-year-old to save $20,500 in a year, however, you forget that for many (if not most) families in this country, this is also an unreachable goal. In my specific circumstance, my husband has a PhD and I have a Master's degree but because I am staying home with our two children right now (rather than work just to pay for daycare) we are struggling simply to survive on one income. The only money that's going into our IRAs this year is the unexpected tax rebate check; there's no additional money in our budget for any savings, much less $20K of savings. I understand that your article is meant to attract attention and offer a unique look at the power of compounding, but to me, it was disrespectful to the many working people who could never afford to do this.
Sincerely,
Heidi Long


Yes, I am a righteous beyotch. But, c'mon, do you have $20K to sock away this year?


Edited to add: After I sent this rant to Mr. Saletta, he wrote back a very sincere message saying that he's in the same financial crunch that we are and that his article was actually the product of his second job. Ouch. Now I feel like just a regular old beyotch.