Last Mother’s Day, I was pregnant—a few months away from meeting my baby girl for the first time. My husband, after seeing a Mother’s Day commercial featuring a pregnant woman and realizing that moms-to-be are moms too, made sure to bring me flowers on the big day. It was super sweet, and I’m looking forward to Mother’s Day on Sunday even more this year because it will be complete with baby cuddles (and hopefully breakfast in bed—look for a perfect pancake recipe on Wednesday!).
I’ve always had a great relationship with my mom and have always felt very appreciative of her support throughout my life. But the fact is that you just cannot fully appreciate your parents until you have kids of your own. Then you see both how much they’ve loved you all this time and how much work they’ve done to take care of you. It also makes you think that your child is the revenge for everything you ever did to your mom.
My dear beloved daughter has always been a champion eater, but in the sleep department, she’s been a bit of a…challenge. Thanks to a book sent from heaven above (more on that another day!) her nighttime sleep is improving by leaps and bounds. But her second daytime nap is always a battle. It never fails that she wakes up the moment I put her down (repeat, repeat, repeat), but putting her down awake is a recipe for an “OMG, naps are the WORST!” type of cry.
The other day, after the third failed attempt to put her in her crib, I decided to lie down on the floor next to her. Maybe she’d fall asleep there? So I pretended to sleep. And she wiggled. And I started to think that a nap actually sounded kind of good. And she jabbed me in the eye. And then her finger went up my nose. And then I realized that not only was she not going to fall asleep, but neither was I. And I had a flashback to a time when my mom was trying to nap (or maybe trying to fake me out so I’d nap?), and I remember physically lifting her eyelids up so that she’d wake up. I had to laugh. My nap-interrupting karma was totally coming back to bite me, several decades later. Apparently, revenge on your kids is a dish best served with grandchildren. —Erin