I would like to know, O dear readers, if there is anyone among us who can truthfully claim a childhood free of bribery, intended either to ward off some outlandish behavior or be the proverbial "carrot" on the arduous stick of our lives. (I would also like to know if you think that would be a terrific name for a soap opera, because I do). I ask this, in part, to uncover our vast similarities and join together as friends, but mostly to make myself feel way better about those few times I extorted silence out of my raging toddler with a threat to skip the visit to Cold Stone.
Realizing that this post and several others (okay, fine, ALL of them) effectively kill my chances at winning Mother Of The Year, I throw my hands up and admit defeat after all those lame promises I made before my children were actually born. Moms, please back me up here...you're huge and pregnant with Baby Number One, tucking away onesies and getting the nursery ready, and silently repeating a vow that you never turn into that wild-eyed vision of your own mother, with a corded phone jammed between ear and shoulder and one hand making a violent pointing motion at you and your siblings to "shut your traps while I'm talking to Aunt Janet, for the love of sweet merciful Jesus," and the other hand on a glass of whatever was chilled enough to drink. Not ringing a bell? No? Fine, you're excused. Go finish your scrapbooks while you enjoy a refreshing Shirley Temple. The rest of you, please join me in my shame. I have turned into my mother (and her mother, and so on, etc.). How does it happen?
Gradually, as I've found out. I was able to keep up the Mary Poppins bit for quite a while, leaning heavily on babysitting skills and a stint at a Montessori school (and for those of you who care, twenty grand a year for your 3-month old DOES NOT guarantee either Harvard admittance or a lenient hand when they set fire to your neighbor's garage. Just an FYI.) I think it started sneaking up on me when I realized I produced a child just like me: sensitive and intuitive, perhaps to a fault. My firstborn can talk up a storm and charm people out of large sums of cash (we hope...Mama needs a new pair of shoes! Roll 'em!), but is unable, at this point in time, to take anything with a grain of salt. He sees and feels everything, and it's personal, all the time. The whining and tantrums are so often that of course I wonder whether it's my fault for giving in just this once (of course it is, you dummy), and now I've essentially had to compensate by becoming a drill sergeant with ovaries which leads us FULL CIRCLE back to our own childhoods (please refer back to above visual, "Mother With Borderline Personality Disorder").
Ahhh. Having little inmates of your own certainly does wonders for your hindsight, if not your ability to learn what responsible parenting choices will come back to bite you in ass. Next time I will not give in! I will have the courage to say "No!" I will thwart all attempts to beg and plead for "just one more cookie!" Next time he's getting a Shirley Temple.
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