I am the worst mom ever.
We’ve gotten into a little weekend routine here at the Pie House that lately, I have to admit, has left me feeling a bit ashamed. MP wakes up around 8 a.m., at which time I get up, hose her off in the tub (not quite gettin’ the whole ‘making it through the night’ potty training thing juuust yet), get her dressed, brush her teeth, set her up with some juice, toast, granola bar, etc., turn on Noggin … and go back to bed.
Horrible. I know. I know!
Now here’s me, [pathetically] trying to justify my actions …
– The tv/family room is literally RIGHT outside my door, which remains open
– It’s healthy for her to learn the fine art of entertaining oneself
– I’m a better mom when I can get a little extra sleep
– I never FULLY fall back asleep, and can usually hear everything
Okay, I take that last one back. Here’s what I woke to a few months ago … an activity I did NOT hear:
Thank you, Jesus, for washable markers.
So this morning, I sleep a bit later than usual, re-awake just before 10, and realize it’s a little too quiet. I figure she’s probably working on another self-adornment project. It’ll wash off. I fade in and out of sleep for a few minutes, trying to drag my butt out of bed. The phone vibrates on my nightstand. Peering over with one eye half-open, I see my mother’s photo on the cell face. I put it down, and wait for the message. Thirty seconds elapses before it arrives. I dial my code, and hear MP’s tiny voice leaving an unintelligible message on my voice mail.
I bolt out of bed, my brain lagging behind my body, trying to catch up and connect the dots. I speed dial Grammy, and MP answers.
“Hi Mommy! I’m sorry.”
I need to clarify that my mom in fact, lives just a few hundred feet away. We live down a long dirt drive, on a small bit of acreage, with virtually no neighbors. Think Everybody Loves Raymond. With a rural flair.
Which may sound better, but knowing that MP put on coat and boots, unlocked and opened the front door, and trekked across the snow to Grammy’s house without me hearing a thing confirms it …
I AM the worst mom in the world.
Apparently, she had written a letter while I was sleeping, and just wanted to give it to Grammy. I wasn’t mad at her – I was furious at myself. Add embarrassed, ashamed, horrified … Grammy got on the phone and told me they were on their way back.
After a serious five-minute discussion about leaving the house without telling Mommy, she asked if she could go back to play at Grammy’s. Which left me alone to think about MY actions.
Definitely NOT one of my shining motherhood moments.
A little extra sleep on the weekends will just have to wait a few more years. Period.