To cry or not to cry – Bad Mom Confessions

To cry or not to cry – Bad Mom Confessions

Sep 13

Welcome to the weekly Bad Mom Confessions column.

Every Monday I post two anonymous confessions received at the Bad Mom Confession Booth along with some Words of Wisdom and Forgiveness (meaning I’ll do my darnedest to make you feel better about yourself.)

Do you want your confession to be featured here? Would you like some words of forgiveness? Do you just need to let off steam? The Confession Booth is available 24/7.

Forgiveness guaranteed.

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Lenora writes:

I think I must have a heart of stone or something, because I don’t get all the tears over school starting (unless you’re a kid seeing summer come to a close).

I sent my child to pre-school at 2.5yrs and the second he was out of sight I did the dance of joy and ran off to make the most of my free time. Yes it’s a milestone and life will be different, but I thought different was better. It only took about 2 days before I wondered how I had lived without 2.5hrs of spare time in my day before school started. This is our 3rd yr of full days and I LOVE IT!! I don’t know how I ever got by with just half a day (and back then I fit in work too).

I know it doesn’t sound like it to all the parents who are heartbroken about their child going to school, but I love my child just as much as they do, I just don’t love spending all day every day with him.

Dear Lenora,

It is time someone said it like it is.

You are unrepentant about this, and rightly so. I, for one, am so happy about my C-less time that I get evil looks from my mom and other people sometimes.What kind of soulless mothers would do a little dance when they drop their child off at daycare/grandma’s/auntie’s?

You and I, Lenora, you and I.

And this shocks the crying-at-the-school-gates crowd.

What these people forget is that a grown-up needs some grown-up time in order to recharge their batteries for the non-stop singing/dancing/piggy-back riding/crawl racing and dinosaur-impersonating that goes on when the kid is around.

Or is it only me?

Thought so.

Lenora, your boy will benefit from a mom who’s happy to see him… because she makes the most of her time without him!

You are forgiven. Let’s do the dance of joy!

M

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Elsie writes:

I am a big weenie. My 9 month old Emory is screeching his head off and I have totally weenied out of helping with the the whole ‘cry it out’ thing.

Emory needs to learn how to comfort himself and put himself to sleep BLAH BLAH BLAH. I know all this. But I can’t listen to him cry, so I’m making my husband do it.

And not only am I not helping, I keep asking him if I can go in and check on Emory.

Can I now? Now? How about now?

Dear Elsie,

take a seat – there are several issues we need to discuss here.

I understand and share your reluctance to let Emory “cry it out.” After 9 pm I don’t let C cry anything out because we happen to share a room, and his “crying it out” would mean my eardrums bursting under the effect of the Whines from Hell. So help me, I cave to all of his terrorist demands (usually milk and a back rub) because Mama Needs To Sleep.

That said, I totally agree with the philosophy of letting them learn to self-soothe and all of that, and I keep telling myself that I’ll go that way the second C moves out of my room. Pretty soon he’ll have a room of his own, and then we’ll see if I put my money where my mouth is and let him CIO. You should be strong now so you can point and laugh at me when I start with the “oh poor thing, I’ll just take a quick look!”

But while I understand and forgive your weakness in the face of Emory’s heart-rending (or ear-splitting) cries, I must tell you off for throwing your husband under a bus. That is the big no-no here. As Emory grows older he will learn to pit your husband and you against each other and play you to get whatever he wants. Start working on a rock-solid united front now, or years down the line you may find yourself flying off a very tall building.

Now get yourself some good earphones and your favourite music, and play it LOUD.

You are forgiven,

M

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Small print:

Confessions may be edited for length (and grammar and spelling, because I’m a stickler.) All real names will be changed for Victorian-era pseudonyms, to make everyone sound classier.
While I do not encourage repeating any of the behaviours confessed, I will not blame anybody who sees them as “tips” rather than no-nos.
This column is called ‘Bad Mom Confessions’ for the sake of brevity and consistency, but I must stress that dads, grandparents and carers of all sorts are most welcome to use the Confession Booth.