Today was a normal day. We got the ball rolling with Cheerios around 6:30, half eaten banana about 7, and Mickey Mouse Clubhouse at 8 on the nose. Can't miss the Mouse. Then at 8:30 we busted out the extra large Disney coloring book and markered up every inch of space on our palms. Nothing beats a purple thumb.
Tuesdays being the only day we don't have something on the ol' "schedule" I try to keep it low key. We play around the house, we read books, and we pet the dog. Mom has some Facebook time while the goose pushes six babies in a stroller around the basement. Its like the day of not go-go-going.
We did, however, make a minor/major -depending on your point of view - step forward. After naps and a turkey sandwich PLUS pudding cup lunch we went upstairs to her bedroom. The chicken played with her "guy" - which is actually a Little People dollhouse, and I took the front section off of her crib. In its place I put a flimsy ass piece of metal the manufacturer calls a "side rail." This thing is not likely to hold my child inside her crib. She's a thrasher. Sometimes I hear her smacking her head against the crib so hard that I know her pink G-R-A-C-E letters are falling off the bookshelves.
She couldn't have been more pleased with the situation. As soon as the front piece came off she was jumping and screaming all over her room. "BED!" "mm-eye BED!" I had to coax her off it with some never before seen hand-me-down-pink-sparkly-Disney shoes in order to get the contraption put together. Even those paled in comparison. Once we were a go, and she tried to shimmy herself onto the bed through the slim slot at the end of the side rail her expression quickly turned glum. She could not get her little knee up on the side in such a slim space. She said, "UH-OH." I said, "What are we going to do? How can you get up in your bed on your own?" She replied, "I on't no." I said, "Wait! I have an idea," and looked to my bedroom door and then she put it together and screamed, "STOOOOL!" Off she ran to my room, grabbed the stool that I'd set at my own bedside 26 months ago when I was too pregnant to heave myself into my own bed, and placed it neatly at her bedside. We were officially ecstatic! She went up and down umpteen times - each time she'd get up, cross her arms over her chest and say, "self" - then down again. AT THE TIME I felt nothing but sheer joy. It was incredible to watch her feel such pride in doing something on her own. I did, in fact, tear up.
But now 9:16 p.m. is a different story. Now I'm pacing the floor, busying myself with egg salad sandwich ingredients because I am certain that flimsy ass piece of metal is going to fail me and my chicken is going to hurt herself, alone, in the dark. OR she'll try to get out of the bed through the ever so slim opening alone, in the dark and therefore hurt herself.
THE WORRY OF MOTHERHOOD IS TORTURE. Torture I tell you. If you're not into torture, use birth control diligently and without error. Maybe a follow-up method, pull out. A condom. Whatever it takes. Because while I Love You Through and Through is totally accurate - I do love her when she is happy, sad, angry, or mad. The worry is torture. And according to my mom, it never ends. She isn't likely to lie about that, either.
Today I worried like this:
7 a.m. - Why didn't she eat a good breakfast? Is she feeling ok?
12:30 pm- My goodness she is taking a very long nap.
5:15 pm - Is she going to stop crying when I leave her at the YMCA Kidz Korner.
(and yes, that IS how they spell it.)
7:23 pm - How much sugar did she really ingest with that cream puff anyway?
7:44 pm - Is there too much water in the bathtub? Don't blow bubbles in the water! Hey, don't gargle the bathwater.
8:20 pm - Is she going to fall out of this thing? Is she going to be able to see to get out? Is she going to know how to find me in the dark? Is she going to be scared?
Everyday it goes like that. Everyday. So while her point of view on the new side rail is one of sheer joy, mine is painful worry. Its all point of view.