Dear First-Time Expectant Mom

My niece is having her first baby very soon, and I was thinking of something to write in the card for the baby shower. What I want to say seems a bit long-format for that particular venue, so I am going to write it here, and if you're an expectant mother (some of this might apply to fathers, too, but I haven't experienced that angle and don't feel confident to proffer advice), please please try to remember at least some of this. If you read it and take it seriously, it might make your first year of parenting easier (in a way that allll of the books can't and don't).

Dear First-Time Expectant Mom:

Congratulations! You almost made it through your pregnancy! You've no doubt thought about the ways in which your life is about to change. Maybe you've taken classes. Maybe you've read stuff. That's all good. Unfortunately, most of it doesn't do much to address the reality you're about to face.

In my experience, much of pregnancy prep deals with practical issues: Planning for birth, and then utilitarian things like feeding and diapering and other childcare issues. That's all important. However, they're not the most important. They feel huge, and they are huge, so this sounds insane. But I promise you, it's the truth.

Here are some things I never saw addressed during my pregnancy, but they actually are pretty vital, so I'll share them with you. One, so you'll know that you're not alone. Two, so you can rest assured that everything passes (and comes back... and passes again, etc.).

1) You know your life is about to change, but you cannot possibly anticipate how. With my first child, I could still go out to eat. I could go shopping, I could travel. I could mostly operate (on less sleep) as before, toting my easy-to-please child around. Yes, it was 9 months before I got a full night's sleep again, but everything else was pretty smooth. With my second, we couldn't do anything in public because he cried. And I'll let you know when I start getting a full night's sleep (for the record: it's been 3.5 years, and I think twice he's slept about 6 hours in a stretch).

The best way to "prepare" for this change is not to try to anticipate anything. Have no expectations, and be ready to go with the flow. Maybe you'll be one of those moms blithely pushing a cart with a sleeping baby around Target, but maybe you'll be the one riding your bike around the neighborhood in the 90-degree heat because that's the only time your kid isn't fussy. That kind of leads into the second point...

2) There will be moments of unprecedented joy and magic, to be sure. But there will also be times when you feel deep regret and wonder if you made a mistake. After my first trip to Target with my younger, I sat in the car and cried with him, after he'd screamed his newborn(ish) scream our entire time inside of the store. I thought, "We have made a huge mistake! We were almost free!" My older child was coming of the age where doing stuff with the parents isn't super cool, and the hands-on parenting finish line had been in view.

Babies, even good-natured babies, are hard. They need every literal thing. They are demanding, and they do not offer positive feedback for months. You only hear from them when they're uncomfortable or unhappy or bored. There's no "high five for anticipating that one, Mom" from them. Ever.

With my first, I remember crying at the first bout of baby hiccups. They hiccups themselves didn't bother me, but just regarding this tiny human, I thought, "Why did they let us bring this person home? We don't know what to do." And then once, a few months later, I looked upon a "safe haven" sign at an urgent care... one of those places where you can relinquish your child with no questions asked. I wondered, "Why don't they have a 24-hour program? I'd come back. I really would."

I think there's a lot of pressure to "cherish every moment." Especially if you went to extraordinary means to have a child, or if you adopted, or if you had several failed pregnancies before you had a baby. Under that pressure, those totally normal moments of grief for the life you might have had can lead to extreme guilt, and with pregnancy hormones (or post-adoption exhaustion, or whatever your situation might be), this can lead to a downward spiral to the tune of "I'm a terrible mom. I don't deserve to have this child." False. You're a normal mom. In a few minutes, or days, or years, you'll feel sorry for your former self for not knowing this amazing person. Just maybe not immediately. Which dove-tails into the third point...

3) Maternal love might not be instant. Have you read things to the tune of, "The first time I saw those precious eyes, my entire heart melted!" I have. In fact, recently I saw a picture of a friend's daughter that was taken shortly after her third child was born. In the picture was her, in the hospital bed, holding the baby; her husband; and their other two children. It was captioned, "We're already in love!" Very truthfully, my knee-jerk was, "Honestly? Already??"

After my first was born, the nurse showed me the baby, and my mental monologue went, "Huh." Seriously, my deepest thought was, "Well, that's a thing that just happened." A few days later, when we were looking at having to be readmitted to the hospital for jaundice and failure to thrive, I wept over that baby, pledging my undying love and protection for as long as I lived. But I don't think that's the same thing as affection.

For me, the maternal protection (sort of "mama bear" thing?) was instant, almost instinctual. But the love built over time, as love does.

(Incidentally, and this note is specifically for my niece, one reason I include this point is that Nan told me I was the first person she'd ever heard say out loud that I didn't feel a deep emotional connection to my child at birth. She'd felt the same way, apparently. We're in good company.)

4) There are a lot of "experts," but you're the expert of your child. People have lots of ideas about parenting, especially babies. All sorts of very strong beliefs about feeding (breast, formula, or a mix? child-led weaning? veggies first? 4 months? 6 months?), sleeping (bed-sharing? sleep training? naps?), scheduling (important? comforting? necessary? parent-led?), waste management (cloth? disposable? elimination communication?), training (set habits early? spoil a kid?), caring for your child (stay home? nanny? day care? preschool?). The advice can be overwhelming.

Knowing your options is great, and then knowing your family so you can make the best choice for you is the best thing. People won't always agree with your choices, and sometimes vocally. I've had homeschool mom friends who were reluctant to admit they'd put their kids in school lest they be looked down on by other homeschool moms. I've also had friends not admit they homeschool lest they be seen as "one of those moms." You can listen to well-meaning input as much as you want, then, by all means, kindly shut it down, saying something like, "Thank you for caring, but this is the best decision for our family right now."

Whatever you do, don't internalize it. There's a lot of fear that the wrong step might "ruin" your child. "If they go to daycare, they'll never bond properly with me as a primary care-giver!" "If I let them sleep with me, they'll never go into their own bed and they'll need therapy just to go to college!"

There was a podcast a few years ago on Freakonomics that bears a listen. The short version of what they found is: As a parent, it actually doesn't matter a whole lot what you do, in terms of reading to your kids or putting them in enrichment programs, or working full time, or staying home, or teaching them three languages as they grow up, etc. People basically turn out fine, regardless. That might sound defeating, like, "Why even bother?" but to me, it's extremely comforting. I have good intentions and might make some missteps, but my kids are not going to suffer inordinately because of them.

What these economists found is that people *do* remember whether or not their parents were kind to them, and that their ideas about drinking and smoking were affected by their parents. But, really, that's about it. So do your best, be kind to your kids, and don't turn them into emphysemic drunks.

5) "A mom has to take care of herself before she can take care of her kids." Can we just call BS on this right now? Granted, you need to eat food. And watch for signs of illness. But there are times, occasionally long stretches of time, when you simply cannot care much for yourself. Sometimes, you can't make yourself sleep when the baby sleeps because you have too much to do. There are times when you just want five minutes in your own quiet head, but your baby has a different idea, and you wonder about those moms who confess to using the restroom as a getaway, because whose kids respect a closed door? You will reach the point, once, twice, multiple times, where the thought occurs to you, "If I don't get XYZ soon" where XYZ is a full night's sleep, an afternoon with no responsibility, an entire meal eaten sitting down without holding a baby in your lap, etc., "then I'm going to lose my freaking mind."

The good news is: You won't. Not permanently, anyway. Yes, you'll forget commonplace words when you're trying to have a conversation. Yes, you'll feel like a zombie and wonder what happened to your energy. Yes, you'll cringe when Nana tells you that she just woke up from her second nap today... nope, sorry. That one's a bit too specific for the general public. But you get the idea. The good news is that the human body, especially mom's, is resilient in ways you never would have imagined.

One thing that really helps is to release the "I need" mentality. Or, worse, the "I deserve" one. As in: "I need at least seven hours of uninterrupted sleep." "I deserve a break!" "I can't survive without two hours to myself every day." Accept that you have a new normal and lean into it, finding rhythms that work for you and your child. It likely won't be ideal for either of you. For you, you now have an entire new human reliant on you for every single thing. From the baby's perspective, he was just somewhere all of his needs were met with no bright lights or scratchy clothes or loud noises and everything is overwhelming. But you can find a comfortable place. Together.

And that's another thing...

6) Always give your child the benefit of the doubt. You will, mark my words, think (or say out loud), "I just fed you and changed you and you got a bath and you're comfortable right now, so WHY ARE YOU CRYING?!" And you might even mentally, or verbally, add, "Are you TRYING to make me crazy?!" Because that's how it can feel.

Just remember what we said above about your child's former home. It was literally tailored to him and meeting his needs. Everything is new and scary and he needs your empathy and support, even when you feel like you've reached the end of your ability to provide it. You will never look back and wish you'd been more severe. As disconcerting as the sound of your baby crying is, it is the only means they have to communicate with you.

7) You can fight your baby's natural inclinations, or you can accommodate them. Your child might be awake from 4 AM to 6 AM. Every day. For months. You can spend that time saying, "Go back to sleep!" and trying to rock them, nurse them, and cajole them back to sleep, all the while becoming more frustrated and desperate, or you can figure out a way to make it work. Go to sleep at the ridiculously early hour of 7:30 PM. Take a short nap before heading to pick your child up at daycare. Drink lots of coffee. Use that time to play, to be present, to bond.

Back when my younger child cried 4+ hours per day for no discernible reason and with no apparent fix, someone encouraged me that during those most stressful times is when your bond with your child is forged the strongest. I didn't fully understand it at the time, and maybe I still don't. But I do know this: When that child is upset now, even with me, he will still cry in my arms. Is it because he knows, from the day he was born, that I don't run from his crying? I'm not sure. But guess what? I know it.

Same with your baby not being prone to napping, or only wanting to fall asleep in your arms, or never wanting to take a "full" feeding (whatever that is). Help your child learn to listen to his own body by taking his lead on these things when you can.

That old phrase, "You can lead a horse to water, but you wan't make him drink" applies to so much. When I hear a parent talk about how they spend half of their day trying to get their kid to sleep (a couple of hours at nap time and a couple at night), I just wonder, "Why?" There's a lot of pressure to "develop good habits early" or else. The implied threat is your child's inability to be disciplined or function normally, but that's a load of garbage. Most adults can sleep when they need to (absent medical or mental issues preventing it), sit at a table for an entire meal, etc.

Don't make your life difficult now because you're trying to insure against an imaginary future disaster that is not likely to happen.

8) Your child will inevitably bring about the most joy you will ever experience. He will also uncover your weaknesses and challenge you in ways that no parent, sibling, or romantic partner ever could. I'd never say, "Be grateful for the opportunity to grow" because I hate to hear that kind of garbage (and I don't want to get punched in the face). But I mention it so you can be on the lookout for it. When you feel the most strong resentment or frustration toward your little one, stop and ponder, "Why is this causing such a reaction in me? What is making me feel like this?" (And sometimes the real answer is simply "I'm beyond tired and have zero energy for myself, much less another human." Welcome to parenting!)

I've often said that having a kid forces you either to grow up or to be a lousy parent. It's your choice, and it's one you're going to have to make over and over again. Just know that a failure here and there doesn't mean you've messed it up irreparably.

Finally, I want to leave you with this assurance: I know a lot of moms. I know moms who stay home and make kid-raising their full time job. I know homeschooling moms who work full time and have a nanny. I know moms who've worked from the beginning so that their kids have grown up "in" daycare. I know moms who have done a combination of things as their lives have changed. And all of those kids know who their mom is, they love them dearly, and every one of us finds ways to make our relationships with our children the obvious priority. All of our kids feel this. They all know they are cherished. There is no one right way.

Do your thing. Accept help. Reach out. Be honest. Enjoy as much as your heart can handle, and don't feel guilty when you're bored senseless. Recognize that you can guide but you cannot control another human being, even a tiny one who needs you for everything. Rest assured that he will turn out all right.

Best of luck, and happiest of days.

With love,
Aunt Sister

"You have to take care of yourself first"

I get that moms need a break now and then. I mean, I understand it AND I feel it. The bathroom is not a place of solace, so breaks usually involve getting out of the house (because when you have a
"still-nurse-to-sleep"er, even nap and bed times aren't "get out of jail free" cards). Today, I ran to the grocery store while James played with Mal. It wasn't exactly the spa or a night out with the ladies, but it was a lot easier than trying to get the stuff I needed to get while also trying to make sure Mal doesn't stand in the cart, or doesn't wander off in the .78 seconds it takes me to decide between the colby jack cheese or the mozzarella, or doesn't put anything in his mouth, or doesn't meander into the path of an oncoming cart, or doesn't try to commandeer a cash register.

Before that, though, Mal and I had gotten out to meet with a group of over-40 moms, exactly one of whom (besides myself) showed up. Her little was in school, so it was just us. And Mal. We got to talk, but it feels weird being the one with the kid, and she might have felt weird being the one without the kid at a park where there were a lot of parents and kids.

Anyway, while we chatted, she mentioned that it'd be neat to do a non-play-date get-together, and this is where I start drifting off mentally to some other place, because, frankly, the idea of organizing a bunch of people to meet at a place where you're going to eat or hang out over wine or whatever... That thought is EXHAUSTING to me.

I have limited "free" time. I don't have a babysitter. Mal will only stay with select family members, and I try not to overuse that. And if I'm calling in any favors, honestly, just going somewhere with my husband or my sister and hanging out and talking in actual full sentences is preferable to me at this stage in my life than trying to get to know other people.

Plus, I don't think this is just in Austin, but I think it's maybe worse in Austin than some other places, there's this whole, "We should TOTALLY do something!" excitement that happens in the early planning stages of get-togethers, that, by the end, turns out to be only 1 or 2 people actually following through.

Or no one. That happened about a year ago, when I tried to host this same group in my home, after we'd met at Central Market and I hadn't really gotten to chat with anyone because my then-not-quite-1-year-old would not play on the playground like all of the other kids did. He ran all over the patio, and kept going inside. Finally, I just gave up and went shopping. 

Wasn't he a bald little dude?

Thus, we decided to have it at my house the next time. Lots of people were excited, but in the end, I think only 1 said for sure she'd be there. And then she wasn't. She never contacted me, just flaked. About half an hour after it was supposed to start, Mal and I went somewhere else. I was just kind of waiting for someone to message me with, "I'm here, but you're not answering your door." No one did. Nothing. Like ever. No one followed up.

So now, a year later, the group tries to get together again, and it's just the two of us. She is a lovely person. She thinks we should meet without the kids since "especially during the school year, all of the kids are in school." Well, mine's not. And he probably won't ever be. And the truth is that I don't want to spend my precious "no kid" time just hanging out with random other older moms. Maybe if we got to know each other well enough that we became friends. But we're not. We're barely socially thoughtful of each other, at this point. And it's been two years since I've been in this very loose group.

Maybe some day. Maybe when it's easier. For now, I think we're doing okay the way we're doing it.

Exhaustion

Can I tell you something? I was ready to go back to bed by the time my husband left for work this morning.

"You're taking him with you, right?" I asked as the grown male person grabbed his keys.

I love my son. I adore him. He's my favorite. But I'm tired. And I don't mean "we're still not sleeping through the night" tired (though that's a huge part of it). I mean complete physical and emotional exhaustion, and I don't see an end within sight.

First, a few months ago, Mal had gotten to the point where he was only waking 4-6 times per night (those of you who have children who, like my first, are great sleepers, will cringe at that "only," but it was a definite improvement). Some times, he'd sleep through from the time he went to bed at 9:45-10:30 until 2. Once, he even slept until 4. Now we're getting somewhere!

Then he started skipping naps. At first, a couple of days a week. Now, he might nap once a week, but his norm is not to. If he falls asleep in the car, he might catch 20 minutes or so, and that's preferable to nothing, but typically, he's just up from whenever he gets up (which was 6:15 yesterday, but is usually closer to 7) until he goes to bed at night.

When THAT is varies, too. Yesterday, he tried to drift off at 5:30, but 6:30 is really the earliest I feel comfortable letting him doze off. So I kept waking him. He ended up staying awake until 7:40.

The nice part of the early bedtime is my having a few moments to my own thoughts and pursuits after he goes to bed. The down side is that 3/4 of the time, instead of sleeping through a few hours, he sleeps a while, wakes up, needs help resettling, and it ends up being a 2-3 hour process, like taking a true nap before he settles in for nighttime sleep.

Last night, by the time the Presidential Debate was over, he'd awakened 3 times (once it was a matter of my putting him back to sleep, using the restroom, and as I was walking back into the living room to watch, he was already crying for me). I was so tired and frustrated, I ended up just going to bed at 9:30.

Then Mal was awake very often, more times than I care to count, but I'd guess 10-12 times before 5 AM, after which time he woke up any time he unlatched from nursing. So we nursed constantly from 5 until he was ready to get out of bed at 7:15.

Now you can understand why I don't feel rested most mornings.

And if he were groggy and slow to wake, we could muddle along together in the mornings. But that's never the case.

He jumps out of bed with an enthusiastic, "Eat!" or "B!" (computer) or "Pak!" (park). This morning, it was all three. And he cried when I was physically unable to produce food, log into the computer to pull up a video, AND make sure he could swing simultaneously, eight seconds after I'd first sat upright for the day.

I started a video for him and pulled some food together, then started James' coffee and toast and sausage, and Mal and I headed into his room. After a few, Mal wanted to read a book, which he brought me, sitting in my lap regardless of the fact that I, too, was eating.

I closed the laptop to read the book, but he didn't like that, so he abandoned the book and opened the laptop. After about 1/4 of a song, he got the book back and closed the laptop himself. I read the book and said I was going to go finish up James' breakfast, at which time Mal said, "Deedees!" (which is how he's referring to "nursies" this week, I guess).

So.

We nursed, and I got up. He came into the kitchen crying and demanding. He wanted his dad's breakfast, which was exactly the same as his. He wanted a frozen yogurt tube. He wanted an apple. He wanted juice. He wanted a spoonful of sugar. He wanted a carrot I was peeling for our slow cooker roast dinner.

He wanted to ride on his horse. He wanted to watch more videos. He wanted to sit in a different seat. He wanted to stand on the cabinet. He wanted me to put toothpaste on a toothbrush he'd found in a drawer in his bedroom.

I went and got him toothpaste, and he chewed on the toothbrush for a moment before throwing it down and coming back for more food. He looked in the freezer and didn't like what he saw. He wanted his dad's lunch.

Then he disappeared around the corner to our room and I got the dinner prep finished. I knew to be afraid of what I'd find in the bathroom, but I loaded the dishwasher and started it before I went into the other room.

Fortunately, he was just standing in James' sink, talking about brushing his teeth, and gumming up the mirrors (which I clean on Mondays, anyway). I got him down, and we went into the other room.

He wanted this. He wanted that. He wanted to go to the gym, and the trampoline park, and the park with the swing. And I'm exhausted; I don't want to go anywhere for a while. I want to go slowly. He wants James' guitar. Not the one that's out and that he can play with, but the electric one that's in a case and that, every time he gets out, he gets so mad and screams because he wants to do something with it that none of us understands.

He cries in frustration when he can't open the case by himself. He cries in frustration when his attempts to bring me the case don't work as it's wedged in behind a chair. Then he SCREAMS when I tell him we're not opening it right now, and set it back up.

As a distraction, I go into the bathroom to clean it. He follows me in there. He usually likes to wipe stuff down. This time, though, he decides he wants to use the toilet. While I'm cleaning it. And it's pretty nasty, so I tell him to let me finish cleaning it, then we'll use it (if we were actually potty training, I'd drop it and throw him up there). He doesn't like my idea and keeps trying to put the seat down on top of my hands.

Finally, I get him set up and he's actually pooped already, so I have to go get stuff to clean that up. Fortunately, he sits still for all of it, but then I have to reclean the toilet, anyway.

When I finish that up, he decides it's time to go somewhere. He asks me, "Pak. Opu?" "The park is open, but we're not going anywhere right now." He goes to the door and when I don't follow him, he cries.

I go back into the bathroom to get the rest of the cleaning stuff, and... it's quiet. When I return to the kitchen, Mal's up on the counter, heading toward the sugar. This time, I tell him that I'll just get him some sugar, which I do after I put him on the floor. Two teaspoons later, and he's no longer obsessed with the idea. Sometimes it's easier that way.

I see that he's once again scratched his face, so we head into his room to trim his nails (again) and have a nice few minutes playing with a teddy bear book his grandma made him.

Then he gets out a toy drill whose batteries are dying. I go get the mini-tool kit to open it up. AAA. Go back to get batteries, and when I get back into Mal's room, he's pulled every mini screwdriver, bit, and attachment out of the tool kit.

We get the drill back up and running, and by the time I get the tools reorganized, he's bored with the drill and wants something else. I don't remember what. But I remember his crying.


It's 10 o'clock and I am ready for lunch. I've thought about that a lot lately. One reason I think the calorie-tracking and cutting back is so not freaking fun for me is that I don't get many breaks (James did take Mal on several "adventures" this weekend, so I *do* get some down time, and I appreciate that), and eating food I really enjoy is that my taste buds can have a big old party, even if the rest of me just wants to crawl back into bed.

Oh, also, I'm on DAY TEN of my period. And this convergence of stuff is why I had pb&j trail mix, a Little Debbie bat brownie, and a Hostess cupcake for lunch. And, yes, I counted it all. I'll still be within my allotment. The cupcake was an accident. I meant to grab a brownie and grabbed the wrong thing. And, yes, I had to eat it. I didn't want to hurt its feelings.

I was doing something in the living room or kitchen or bathroom or something when Mal went into his room and after a few minutes started fussing. He came into the living room and was frustrated that he couldn't get the rest of the yogurt out of the tube on his own. I helped him, then went into his room knowing what I'd find. It wasn't as bad as I thought it might be, but I gotta remember to take messy food out of his room when I leave.

Anyway, at one point, Mal wanted some of my soda, which I gladly (kind of) offered to share. He got a bamboo straw, but I don't like the feel of that straw, and I didn't want it in my soda, so I got a silicone straw instead. That's typically what he uses, anyway, but because he hadn't picked it out this time, he was infuriated. He started screaming and crying --

(Aside: D showed me a video once, a game play-through. It's some horror game, and is supposed to be scary, but this one glitch makes the whole thing accidentally hilarious. Anyway, there's this dead baby ghost running through the house crying, and even when you can't see it, you can hear it. D said, "That's my life: a baby vaguely crying in the background." Guys, this kid cries A LOT. It's demoralizing. I get that it's how he communicates. I get it. But, still... it wears on a person after TWO YEARS.)

-- And I said, firmly, "You have to stop screaming because you're not getting your way!" I crouched down in front of him to take the straw, and was grabbing it rather roughly when I noticed his genuine tears. I said, "Mal, it doesn't always happen the way that you want it to happen. You have to learn how to be patient while we get things ready, and learn to appreciate things the way that they are. We're trying our best." Then I just sat there and kind of rubbed his back. He kept sobbing, but I could tell he was trying not to wail.

Eventually, I pulled him in for a hug, and he wrapped his arms around my neck and climbed into my lap.

When he felt better, he hopped up and ran into his room. I just sat there, crouched in the floor, absolutely no energy. He noticed, came back, and leaned in for another quick hug.

I think God gives me those moments to help recharge me; otherwise, I'd probably just lie in the fetal position some days.

James said this weekend, "I never thought I'd be a TV-babysitter dad." And he's not. But Mal likes to watch music videos (and, recently, PBS Kids, which is a nice change to the 20-something songs we've listened to over and over again for a year) and, frankly, at times it's the only way to divert his intensity away from demanding things of us. So we never suggest, "Let's watch some TV!" but if he asks for it, we almost never refuse him, unless we're trying to get out of the house for something.

It's how I was able to write this blog post.

Not sure this post has a point. Mostly whining. And now Mal wants "Deedees," so I have to go.

This is Mal's first superhero. He looked and looked and he wanted one with hair. :D

Gratitude, a Struggle

Typically, I am an easily-thankful person. I recognize blessings, angels in disguise, general good fortune, what-have-you. But, today, guys, I had an internal issue.

Today, my husband was going to hang out with our toddler son so that I could take our teenage daughter out for lunch. We haven't been out or even at home alone together in months (I don't think a trip to the doctor's office for lab work really counts), and we were both looking forward to it.

So, this morning, as I was getting ready, I found myself overflowing with gratitude toward my husband for his "willingness" to hang out with a sweet little kid who can, admittedly, be a handful, especially if he's not happy, and especially especially if he's not happy about being unhappy that I'm not around.

I know, looking at this picture, you'd not believe he could have an off moment, right?

So my issue was this: When I realized how EXTREMELY thankful I was to my husband, and I realized that in my thanking him, I was almost treating it like he was doing me a huge favor, I started to get mad at myself. After all, he's the child's dad. He SHOULD do stuff with him. Alone, even.

Then I felt like a jerk for second-guessing my gratitude. Then I felt kind of resentful that I honestly did feel like my husband was doing me a solid on a pretty big scale to be "game" to try to occupy the boy for a couple of hours.

Meanwhile, my husband never treats it like he's "helping out," but he does, I can tell, kind of get a little pre-freaked-out about being alone with our son. Then, of course, he does fine, and it's all good. So everything in my mind is just that: in my mind. But I was thinking, even before I went, that James would be worn out after this, and that I'd probably need to let him rest after (he *did* take a nap).

And that's when it's the worst kind of struggle, because I don't want to think, "Must be nice! I never get a nap!" as 1) I'm not a martyr and 2) we've made it a deal that we won't try to compete over who works hardest/is the most tired, etc.

All of this to say, I did thank him several times for... see? I was going to say "letting" me have some alone time with the teen, but that makes me roll my eyes. Do you see what I mean? I can't even write this blog post because it's making my head hurt.

I have a great husband. Let's leave it at that. His wife? Maybe less awesome. Maybe. Just a little.