Let me say this: When I was a child, I always thought I'd have a big family ... I was the only child of divorced parents until I was nine and a half. As a teen, with two very young siblings, I developed a distaste for ankle biters in general. That overall feeling didn't change much when I hit my twenties, although I mastered a knack with pretending I enjoyed the little snot factories when I was a CSR for a large financial organization ... people don't warm to you, if you are not nice to their offspring. Then, Jay had kids. Jay and I had been friends for a few years and then drifted, but one day, she just came back into my life ... with two sons. I fell truly, madly, deeply in love with those two. Oh, how I adored those boys. For the first time in my life, I felt maternal. I can remember sitting with the youngest - who would have been around 16 - 18 months ... he was teething and Jay had an overnight shift at the hospital (she had separated from her hubs) so I was staying with the boys ... I sat and rocked him for several hours ... and I still can feel the way he finally relaxed in my arms, fully trusting me to make it okay, and fell back to sleep. It was divine. Honestly, it is a moment that I can remember so vividly, I can conjure it at any time.
Then I met my hubs. Until he and I were together, I never ever really thought about having babies. It seemed like a fairly daunting task, really. First they have to live INSIDE YOU (did you KNOW that??) for like 9 months ... and THEN (the horror) they have to come out somehow. *faints*
Unfortunately (or fortunately) I could not stay on the pill ... it made me all kinds of crazy ... and seriously, if I consider this any sort of sane - you gotta believe that me on the pill was not a pretty thing, indeed. Hubs and I were engaged to be married and we were utilizing the "rhythm method" of birth control ... okay - shuddup ... I know - NOW!
Yeah, so Stretch came along just 4 months after we got hitched. I can recall crying for the full 24 hour period following my "EPT Moment", and then off and on for the next
few weeks four months (between fits of nausea & vomiting). I can also remember the moment I realized my doctor wasn't going to cut this wriggly critter outta me, but instead was gonna make me 'pass' it through an orifice ... one I had come to enjoy rather a lot, in fact. Mm, yeah ... good times, that realization. It sparked another month of hysterical worry and bawling... until I hit about 8 months along. I had a baby that was already 8 or so pounds bumping around in there. I really didn't care how they got it out - just that they hurried up about it already!!! And out, she came. All 9 pounds, 4 ounces of her ... and her 15 and 3/4 INCH CIRCUMFERENCE OF A HEAD!!!
Two years and two months after that, we welcomed Shorty to our brood. So obviously, I recovered.
Cue birdies chirping and 'lah-dee-dah' music:
Becoming a mom hit me like a speeding dump truck. It was unreal. The demands of it were many, but always outweighed by the beauty and joy of them; My gorgeous, brilliant, loving babies. Oh, the sight of them made my heart sing, the smell of them made me whole again, the feel of them in my arms was nirvana. I get a little misty at the slightest thought. My whole entire existence was in their eyes. I remember for much of my life wondering what it was all about ... you know, I went through many existential phases ... but after having Stretch it was like somewhere deep inside my soul I sensed this satisfying "oh, I get it".
Then, they started growing up.
Cue loud record scratch ... and silence:
Stretch is now 7 - she is a trying child, fraught with annoying qualities that make me want to sell her to Super Nanny
some most days ... but we'll save her for another day.
Shorty is now 5. She is the subject of my post for today (long winded as I have been about getting here). She is my baby, you know? Hubs just had his snippity snip and we won't be having anymore (don't think I didn't hear the sighs of relief out there). I want her to stay a baby as long as possible. Don't get me wrong, my girls have more than their fair share of say in the overall running of their own lives - trust me on this, but in my heart, I still cradle her there like an infant.
This made it all the more of a shock when I walked into the bathroom the other day to find her in the tub, with her legs apart, and her little baby girl parts exposed to the running water from the tap. On the one hand I am embarrassed, on the other hand I am fighting off the urge to yell and make her stop, on the other hand I have to applaud her ingenuity, cause let's face it ladies - she's on to something there ... oops, outta hands. ~thinking to self ... do not panic ... don't show any weakness ... and for the love of BOB, do not let on this is upsetting you in any way!!!~
Me: Whatcha doin'?
Shorty: Tickling my noona (Daddies word for vagina - and yes! I hope he is sorry for naming it that, now!!)
Me: Why? (DUH!!! 'cause it feels good!)
Shorty: 'Cause it feels good.
Me: Uh, honey ... I know it feels nice and it's natural for you to want to keep doing it, but (here's where the heavy duty parenting happens) it is something that you must only do in private - never when anyone else is around ... and never NEVER let anyone else tickle your noona - okay?
Shorty: Okay, mommy.
Me: Okay, honey.
Shorty: Could you leave now?
Me: *sighs* Okay, honey ... but your sister is joining you in a few minutes ... just so you know. Remember what mommy said, okay?
So, I left.
My heart is broken ... my baby is masturbating in the bath tub - AT FIVE and my oldest is getting shipped off to military school.
Good job, Mom!!
So ... what would you have done? Any thoughts out there from more seasoned parents?