Last week Molly was miserable. She was fine (a different baby! said my dad. Happy to see us and quick to warm up!) when passed around from aunt to grandparents to dad while I got psyched about nutrition, organization, parenting and marriage at Education Week. And then I came home, after a week of unconcerned nights and peaceful days.
At the end of my retro-stay at BYU, I realized I hadn’t sworn in a week. And it wasn’t hard, either: I didn’t even have to try. I didn’t mumble or think or start to mumble-think a single naughty word in six whole days. And then I realized — I didn’t get mad for an entire week. No anger, no frustration, no wearing a rubber band around my wrist to remind me that the f-word was off-limits.
Just: no kids = no anger = no swearing.
Shouldn’t I be able, I asked myself, to give said self this gift all the time of not getting angry? If I simply refused to get mad, couldn’t I be happier all the time?
No. No I could not, I realized about twelve-hours post re-entry into my real life.
But now that I’m writing this (instead of making dinner, while the kids watch a movie upstairs) (post homework and swimming) (we haven’t fallen that far), instead of writing the post I sat down to write, about how Molly is, instead this has become about how I am, instead instead instead. I realize/remember/recommit that I shall simply choose to be happy (or at least not mad).
So Molly anyway. Molly has been clingy and teary and whiney, sitting on my lap at the dinner table, sometimes edging one leg over her own chair pushed up close to mine but still keeping one leg draped on me. I must turn to the empire for whinging or grizzling — is that not the best term for baby fussiness?
I took her to the doctor the week before last, worried (hoping) it was an ear infection, we aren’t demanding antibiotics, of course not, just let this horrible constant neediness have a reason and not be the new normal.
Then Molly turned two and I thought (horrified), is this the terrible twos that I blocked out of my brain, always thinking the independent threes were harder to deal with? Please bless no!
Before things could get much better (and after I felt stupid at the doctor’s with the “no visible signs of illness but she could still have a virus, you did the right thing, head-pat mommy”), we got her two-year vaccination and a flu shot and rounded the corner on another week of give-me-some-sleep-or-shoot-me enduring.
Well, all that grumbling and groaning on my part to tell you that, knock-on-wood, happy bouncing Molly is back, and if she will stay for a while at least, we need never speak of those two weeks again.