CONFESSIONS OF A FACEBOOK FAILURE: Year 2

Day 4: I don’t like my children at 2 am.

I mean, I “Nightline Special: Monster Mothers” don’t like my children at 2 am.

Come to think of it, I don’t like them much at 3 am, or 4 am, or 5 am. And the only thing keeping me from killing my kids at 6 am is coffee…a massive, giant, steaming cup of liquid life. Their life, not mine. My life would never, ever begin at 6 am, if I had any choice in the matter.

I do not.

But at 2 am, TWO A.M., no amount of caffeine can save us.

A year ago yesterday, I decided to switch out my selfies for shame, in an attempt to change the face of this fiction. So in the spirit of giving, I am gifting y’all once again with a daily dose of self-esteem, in knowing that no matter how bad it gets, mine is probably way worse. I hope you enjoy diving into my daily, dirty little secrets this December.

Now, back to today’s sinful spoils…

Since the moment I became “Mama”, my days have ceased to be mine. Thus, my nights became the days I no longer owned, filled with far more priorities then the Primetime they once possessed.

And with each little life-sucker I pop out, even “my” nights lose a little more of that “my”. Thus, the only remaining “my” in “my” life, is nestled somewhere between midnight and morning, leaving little room for things as silly as sleep. So on those extremely rare occasions when “my” time is filled with the seduction of sleep (delicious, beloved, illusive sleep), and that sweet, sacred state of unconsciousness is horrendously, abruptly interrupted with tiny, terrorist tears, my only choice is to join in the waterworks and make sure my cries are even louder.

At 2 am, TWO A.M., I find myself teeter-tottering between the desperation of (loosely labeled) lullabies and the primal snarls of the walking dead. Unfortunately, my semi-consciousness even refuses the recollection of any words resembling appropriateness, so I try to camouflage bad jingles and hip songs from high school (apparently the only thing left in the long term memory of my mid-night brain) with a gentle hum and a prayer. It is terrifying, even for me. And yet I find it surprising that my baby, having just emerged from a night mare or night terror or simply scared by their own shadow, doesn’t immediately find comfort in the nightmare of a mother they have discovered at 2am, and obediently drift back into Dreamland.

I teach child development. I TEACH it! (Another terrifying truth..I know). But at 2am, TWO A.M., theory and research and wisdom…

…are crap! And every bit of mother and martyr in me is pushed right off of the ledge, and the world’s worst hostage negotiator enters the scene.

“What do you want? WHAT do you want? What do you WANT? PLEASE, for the love of all of humanity, WHAT DO YOU WANT!” (An actual, and frequent mid-night quote.)

I have read every manual. I know all of the rules. I even have the audacity to try and tell trusting, paying people how to preserve the preciousness of their perfect little people, and the bucket of theory behind it all. I un-der-stand what “the right” thing to do is, and I will tell a class full of students do it by the book every time…no excuses.

But at 2 am, TWO A.M., you know what I really recommend?

SLEEP! Beg, borrow, bargain, blame, stack the whole brood on top of you as you sing and tickle and rock the whole mess to sleep. Do whatever the heck those little life-suckers want, so that when you wake up tomorrow and face an absolutely impossible mountain of too many to-dos, with too little sleep to tackle them, and too-tired toddlers terrorizing MY day, you DON’T end up on a Dateline Special. When the only thing standing between me and the leading role on the next episode is that gallon sized Starbucks, the absolute best strategy for everyone’s survival is SLEEP! Screw theory.

I don’t like my children at 2 am. But darn if they don’t look frickin’ a-dor-a-ble when those little life-suckers are finally curled up asleep in their cuteness…

…even at 2am.

And in the spirit of my long dead Grateful 365 Project, I have decided to switch my shame to celebration, in an attempt to laugh and learn and embrace the ugly.

Grateful 365: Sleep. Theirs. Mine. By the book, or by bargaining. Sleep. Sweet, sweet sleep.

If you can relate, please LIKE, or SHARE, or FOLLOW, or read some more.

Help me avoid the morning-after-writer’s-remorse that wells from the paranoia of my signature self-shaming, by giving me your virtual nod and smile, and I will promise to divulge deeper despairs in days to come.