I’m now realizing that shortly after becoming a Mother, I should have invested in Kleenex. It seems that Motherhood has reduced me to a big blubbering mess-crying at every accomplishment and failure my littles achieve. I’ve needed a Kleenex more times in the past 2.5 years than I have in the previous 29.
For the record, I’m pretty sure I’m emotionally stable. I cried the first time each were placed on my chest, cried in frustration when I couldn’t figure out how to get them to sleep, cried because I couldn’t figure out how to stop their tears, cried at Tyson’s first swimming lesson & Mila’s first smile. These tears? They seem justified and explainable.
This past weekend, though, I cried over cereal spit up and poop. And now that I’m writing about it, I can see that you’re going to second guess my statement about being emotionally stable.
We decided to introduce Mila to solids at 4 months old. She downs formula like it’s her job (it kinda is), was showing interest in the food we were eating, and has muscle tone/neck control like a body builder. Despite knowing she was ready, I was secretly hoping she wouldn’t like it so that I could continue to rock and bottle feed her until Kindergarten.
Wishful thinking. Girl is gonna be an eater. She couldn’t get enough of it.
True to form, I cried when I gave her a bath that night as I washed the dried cereal spit up off of her chins (don’t hate me Mila, your baby chub was ridiculously cute).
Yes, I cried over spit up, but I also cried because my baby is getting old already. I cried because eating cereal means that eventually she will start eating food and drinking from sippies. I cried because there will be a day when she doesn’t need me to give her a bottle or feed her from her baby spoon. I cried because I am proud of her-proud of her first milestone.
Not wanting to let Mila one-up him in the never ending battle for our attention (and my tears), Tyson decided that he would potty train himself this weekend. After months of trying every sort of bribery in the book (stickers, toys, suckers, movies etc.) he woke up Wednesday morning, picked out his underpants and stayed dry for the whole day. And then followed it up by staying dry the rest of the weekend. There were two poopy mishaps, but for the most part, the kid officially potty trained himself (praise Jesus because I really wasn’t up for the challenge and consistency potty training was requiring).
Emotional stability be damned. I cried Thursday morning after the first time he told me had to and then successfully went poopy in the potty. Yep, I cried over poop.
But it wasn’t the poop that I was crying about. I cried because potty training is a sure sign of independence. It’s one less thing he needs his mommy for. I cried because he looks so ridiculously cute in his little Buzz Lightyear underpants. I cried because he says, “I’m going pee-pee” and means I have to pee! I cried because he taught himself. I cried because I was so, so, proud of him.
While poop and cereal spit up might have triggered my tears, it was the intense pride in my babies that made them fall. And if crying over your kid’s accomplishments (no matter how ridiculous they might seem in writing) makes me emotionally unstable, then please book me my padded room at the Mental Hospital. I’m sure there will be many, many more irrational and unstable tears to follow in the years ahead.