You've Changed

So, I really loved the discussion that was sparked by my last couple of posts here. And I had lots and lots I wanted to say and write about it all in the past week or so. But there truly hasn’t been a moment. Spike has been on Spring Break and he started things off by coming home sick from school – an awful galloping fever that lasted a good three days. Then we had Easter roll around, and friends and family visiting for the weekend. Bell’s croupy sounding cough returned, and she went into a serious spin of No one but Mama Will Do! which kept me pretty dang busy. Now Ryan, Spike (again!) and Bell are sick – and as far as I can tell, they have three different illnesses. And Spike’s involves throwing up everywhere. Whee.

The good stuff? Bell started walking yesterday! And by walking, I don’t mean one measly little stumbly step. No – I mean she started trucking. It was sort of like Einstein talking in full sentences once he finally deigned to speak. I think that waiting that extra year or so before she finally became bipedal allowed for her to rocket off once she made the leap (so to speak). She was delighted with herself, too.

Also on the good list? I managed to do a rewrite on a few scenes today from Y – which proved to me that I can parent and work and work and parent and that my brain hasn’t totally melted under the new Mommy strain.

So, speaking of strain? I was in The Bakery (Oh, The Bakery) the other day with Spike and Bell and our friend Danny. And Danny asked Spike how he liked being a big brother. And Spike kind of shrugged and said it was okay, and then he turned to me and said in the most accusatory tone of voice that you only expect to hear from your Mormon Eagle Scout about to be ex boyfriend after he’s caught you stumbling out of strip bar with a tranny hooker on each arm and a dusty 100 dollar bill still hanging out of your nose, “You’ve changed.”

“Moi?”

“You’re a lot grumpier!... And you and Dad are tired all the time!”

Well, true and true. But ouch!

And then later – the kicker – delivered for maximum effect (and picked up from hearing a teenage older brother of a friend of his mortally wound his own mother with these words just days before) in ear shot of sympathetic Danny, “Sometimes you’re the worst Mom in the world!”

For those of you who don’t know me personally – the thing is – Spike and I have always been…close. I mean, it was only a few months back that he was still telling me that I was the most beautiful woman in the world. And the best mother. And the smartest, sweetest, funniest thing he could think of. And that he was always, always, always going to live right here, in this house, with his beautiful, funny, wonderful mother. Even when he was going to college. So the turnaround? Though it may be better for any eventual romantic relationships he might have, She is a bitch.

The thing is – for Spike, the babymoon is way over. This last week was his spring break, and he came home on the last Friday of school with a whopper of a fever – which lasted for days. And what did his mom – who usually would have doted on him and clucked over him, and sat there next to him kissing his sweaty, germy brow, totally unafraid of getting anything he’s got, do? She said, “You can sleep with your dad tonight! I have to go upstairs! The baby is crying!”

Okay- maybe I wasn’t that bad. But that’s basically what it felt like to him, I’m sure. And then the week only got worse from there – Bell is in a bit of a Mommy Craze right now. Like – Mommy must never be out of her sight, and preferably holding her at all times, and if I so much as break eye contact with the girl, she sends out this high pitched, heart rending, ear splitting scream that makes everyone in the room stick their fingers in their ears in agony. And for Spike – who we (our big mistake) had told over and over again that he was surely going to be the baby’s favorite (because every other little girl he’s ever met was immediately and totally charmed by him) her total avoidance of him (unless she’s shoving him away as he tries to kiss or hug or play with her or gets too close to me) is just the cherry on the second banana cake. Not only is Mom being co-opted, but the baby doing all the co-opting isn’t even any fun!

And you know, the thing is – I know this is all normal sibling stuff. I have five billion siblings myself. And, as my step-dad the psychologist never fails to tell me, having a sibling is good for Spike. And I know we're not in a permanent state. Mom is popular this week, but at some point Bell will notice her big brother, and suddenly he will have set the sun into the sky as far as she's concerned, and then he'll be annoyed by all her unending attention. Plus, he has been the apple of our eye for a good, solid eight years of his charmed little life. And, lest I sound like, er, the meanest mom in the world – he still is. I mean, the kid – he is my heart. No doubt about it. So then, what to do, what to do – when this little usurper with long lashes and a wicked grin comes along and wants to drool on mommy’s face all day and keep mommy from answering even the simplest call for attention from her boy?

I know. Mom and Spike time. Long, sweet talks where I reassure him that I love him no less and he will always be my baby. Running to sit and snuggle with him (or play a round of War) as soon as that girl’s head hits the pillow. And I’m doing that. When I can. But it’s hard. Because the baby is total leech right now (a sweet, lovely, funny, cute, adorable leech – but still sucking my life blood, I swear) and she doesn’t nap regularly or seem to have the world’s most predictable schedule. And when she naps – I need to work. Or close my friggin’ eyes for a second. Or enjoy the sweet, sweet feeling of nobody’s little hands tugging at me day and friggin’ night. This mom – she gets touched out. And even when I pass the girl on to Ryan so I can spend a little time with Spike – it’s likely that, at some point, she will suddenly realize that Mama is not in the room, and the heartrending crying will begin, and nothing daddy does can end it. And what are we trying to teach this child if not that she can trust us to answer her needs? Should I let her cry and cry and cry – when all I really want is for her to know that she can count on me to be there for her? So the bedtime stories get snapped shut with no ceremony, and Mama apologizes to her second banana son and hustles out of the room and sends in dad to finish the chapter – who, in this case, is the obvious replacement (not usually. I mean, dad’s just as good as mom when Spike is actually getting his fair share of attention from Mom). And people, it’s only been a month – no one can expect us to be adjusted and to have figured all this out yet! And so – yes. I am the meanest mom in the world. And grumpy. And tired. And still adjusting. And I love my son with all my heart but yes, I am probably snapping at him more. The sound of a baby crying raises my blood pressure way way up. And he is being surly and snotty and whiny in return. Like a mini-teenager. And so the cycle continues.

I’m not really asking for advice here. I know what to do and how to do it. I know this will all settle out soon. I know that Spike has eight good years of solid attention and parenting to draw upon while we go through this trying time. I know that he knows I love him. I know that none of this is a shock to him – that we prepared him up, down and sideways for the kind of drain a new sister was going to take on our household. And yet, I feel really bad for him. I do. And I wish I could have been the one to kiss his sweaty little brow and hold him close all night while he was sick. But if I had been, the baby would have woken up, taken one look at Dad sleeping next to her, and then wailed the whole night through. And she’s much harder to explain things to. And dang it, she needs me right now – and I’m answering that primal call. Still, I know that Spikey needs me, too. And I’ll be a better mom. I swear I will. But in the meantime, maybe he could lighten up on my mothering skills, because, though I’m sure it’s making him feel better to express his emotions, it’s not helping me much at all.