Charlotte, Charlotte, Charlotte
I think I’m going crazy. Bat shit crazy. Come, join me on this ride to the loony bin.
Is extreme clinginess to, defensiveness of, and overwhelming adoration for your daughter a normal part of third-trimester, home-stretch, impending motherdom Part 2? I wonder if it is.
I remember visiting my mom in the hospital after Tyler was born. The hospital was unfamiliar, and I held my dad’s hand. We got to her room, and Dad gave me the flowers to give to Mums. I hesitated in the doorway, not wanting to go in, until Mums turned in her bed, saw me, and exclaimed, “Hi, honey!!!” I could just TELL that she was extremely happy to see me. This is, I believe, my first memory. I was two months shy of two years old at the time.
Whenever I remembered this little interaction of the early 80s, I always figured Mums was just trying to be nice to me, like moms do. Now, I wonder if she was actually experiencing a little of what I am: a greater-than-normal desire to hang out with your first kid. Maybe?
As my time with Charlotte as my only girl dwindles, I feel this almost fanatical obsession with her. (Lordy, I sound nutso.) Yesterday, I spied on her on the playground, and someone wasn’t very nice to her. I could barely endure watching it. Charlotte was totally unaffected, which actually twisted my heart more, and she went about her merry business. No! I wanted to shout through the window. You don’t just LET someone treat you like that! Fight back, baby girl!
Although Charlotte was, again, totally fine with her playground injustice, I, on the other hand, lost much-needed sleep over it, replaying the scene in my head and blowing it WAY out of proportion. Then I worried how often she gets the short end during the day that I DON’T witness. Should I talk to the teacher? The director? Thankfully, rational thinking took over long enough for me to decide that doing so would be a huge mistake. I mean, she coped and adapted, without me or a teacher to rescue her. That, really, was GOOD. Right? RIGHT?!
After an hour or so of mulling that over, I decided to move on to feeling absolutely TERRIBLE about the fact that when the kids are being potty-trained at school, they only get to do the toilet paper and flushing routine if they actually pee in the toilet (Charlotte LOVES the process and is totally one of those kids who will fake you out just to pull TP off the roll). The teacher is totally right in incentivizing toilet paper and the toilet handle in this way, but I freaked. Not realizing their protocol, I had always let Charlotte do the TP-plus-flush routine at home, pee or no pee.
“She must be so confused!” I told Chris. “Do you think she feels bad when they tell her she can’t have toilet paper?”
“Uh, no,” he said. “I think it’s a good idea to let her get toilet paper only when she actually goes.”
I agreed, but the toll this took on my mommy heart was—AGAIN—way disproportionate. This morning, Charlotte sat on her potty, failed to go, declared “all done,” and reached for the TP.
I stopped her. “No, sweetie. You don’t need toilet paper if you didn’t pee.”
She looked at me with the sweetest big brown eyes and messy bed head.
“It’s okay,” I continued. “Sometimes going pee doesn’t happen. Maybe it will happen next time, and then we can use toilet paper.” I suspect she had just gone in her diaper and was totally empty. The twisted face and deep concentration to PRODUCE PEE suggested it. No go. Again, I blocked her from the TP and the toilet handle. Eventually, she hopped off the toilet and we continued with the morning routine. I felt MOMMY deserved a sticker on her chart for not effing up the teacher’s efforts.
Lately, I want to make up for every bad feeling she experiences, ever. I want to stroke her cute little head. I want to hold her. I want to lay on her pillow, face-to-face with her while we make goofy faces at each other. I want to crawl in bed with her. When she woke up at 3:00 a.m., I considered lobbying Chris to bring her into our bed but knew he’d veto it, probably rightly.
In my defense, I’m careful to overrule these compulsions to hyper-protect or indulge her. I’m still in charge of her dinner menu, rules MUST be followed, bedtime is not a minute past 7:00 p.m., and decent manners must be observed.
Charlotte is really just the best kiddo ever, which makes it hard to part with her lately. I’ve hated leaving her at school. It’s definitely MY problem, not hers. Each morning she asks hopefully if she’ll see her teacher and friends that day. When I say yes, she’s thrilled and so excited to hurry up and get there. So, while Charlotte is more than happy to wave bye-bye and start another fun day, I want to stay with her. Better yet, I want to take her to the park, go split an ice cream sundae, visit a book store with her, and go for a walk with her in her wagon.
Because I’m starting my maternity leave two weeks before D-Day, I’m hopeful that I’ll get a day or two to just soak up some last-minute Charlotte–Mommy time. I. Can’t. Wait.
In the meantime, we’ve been trying to squeeze in more family-of-three time. An extra trip to the park here and there, a fun day at the pool, and so on. This weekend’s goal: apple picking. Thankfully, Chris gets it—he too wants to spend some extra time with his little girl.
Is this some sort of instinctual thing? Like, an internal clock shouting FOCUS ON YOUR FIRST-BORN BEFORE THE NEWBORN BECOMES DICTATOR OF YOUR FAMILY! Or, am I just a little loony? I mean, I always love my girl and she always brings me joy, but this compulsion to be near her, this reverse clinginess, is weird, at least for me.
I sort of alluded to this in an email to my mum, and she said that she thought it was normal (woohoo! NORMAL!) to “relish the time you have left with Charlotte all by herself.” Then she decided to play psychologist and suggested that I’m preemptively feeling guilty for how Charlotte might feel shortchanged once Lorelei lands at our house. (A nail possibly got whacked on its head there.)
“Remember,” she said, “You’re not losing Charlotte. You’re just gaining another special little peanut. It rocks. It really does.”
Is extreme clinginess to, defensiveness of, and overwhelming adoration for your daughter a normal part of third-trimester, home-stretch, impending motherdom Part 2? I wonder if it is.
I remember visiting my mom in the hospital after Tyler was born. The hospital was unfamiliar, and I held my dad’s hand. We got to her room, and Dad gave me the flowers to give to Mums. I hesitated in the doorway, not wanting to go in, until Mums turned in her bed, saw me, and exclaimed, “Hi, honey!!!” I could just TELL that she was extremely happy to see me. This is, I believe, my first memory. I was two months shy of two years old at the time.
Whenever I remembered this little interaction of the early 80s, I always figured Mums was just trying to be nice to me, like moms do. Now, I wonder if she was actually experiencing a little of what I am: a greater-than-normal desire to hang out with your first kid. Maybe?
As my time with Charlotte as my only girl dwindles, I feel this almost fanatical obsession with her. (Lordy, I sound nutso.) Yesterday, I spied on her on the playground, and someone wasn’t very nice to her. I could barely endure watching it. Charlotte was totally unaffected, which actually twisted my heart more, and she went about her merry business. No! I wanted to shout through the window. You don’t just LET someone treat you like that! Fight back, baby girl!
Although Charlotte was, again, totally fine with her playground injustice, I, on the other hand, lost much-needed sleep over it, replaying the scene in my head and blowing it WAY out of proportion. Then I worried how often she gets the short end during the day that I DON’T witness. Should I talk to the teacher? The director? Thankfully, rational thinking took over long enough for me to decide that doing so would be a huge mistake. I mean, she coped and adapted, without me or a teacher to rescue her. That, really, was GOOD. Right? RIGHT?!
After an hour or so of mulling that over, I decided to move on to feeling absolutely TERRIBLE about the fact that when the kids are being potty-trained at school, they only get to do the toilet paper and flushing routine if they actually pee in the toilet (Charlotte LOVES the process and is totally one of those kids who will fake you out just to pull TP off the roll). The teacher is totally right in incentivizing toilet paper and the toilet handle in this way, but I freaked. Not realizing their protocol, I had always let Charlotte do the TP-plus-flush routine at home, pee or no pee.
“She must be so confused!” I told Chris. “Do you think she feels bad when they tell her she can’t have toilet paper?”
“Uh, no,” he said. “I think it’s a good idea to let her get toilet paper only when she actually goes.”
I agreed, but the toll this took on my mommy heart was—AGAIN—way disproportionate. This morning, Charlotte sat on her potty, failed to go, declared “all done,” and reached for the TP.
I stopped her. “No, sweetie. You don’t need toilet paper if you didn’t pee.”
She looked at me with the sweetest big brown eyes and messy bed head.
“It’s okay,” I continued. “Sometimes going pee doesn’t happen. Maybe it will happen next time, and then we can use toilet paper.” I suspect she had just gone in her diaper and was totally empty. The twisted face and deep concentration to PRODUCE PEE suggested it. No go. Again, I blocked her from the TP and the toilet handle. Eventually, she hopped off the toilet and we continued with the morning routine. I felt MOMMY deserved a sticker on her chart for not effing up the teacher’s efforts.
Lately, I want to make up for every bad feeling she experiences, ever. I want to stroke her cute little head. I want to hold her. I want to lay on her pillow, face-to-face with her while we make goofy faces at each other. I want to crawl in bed with her. When she woke up at 3:00 a.m., I considered lobbying Chris to bring her into our bed but knew he’d veto it, probably rightly.
In my defense, I’m careful to overrule these compulsions to hyper-protect or indulge her. I’m still in charge of her dinner menu, rules MUST be followed, bedtime is not a minute past 7:00 p.m., and decent manners must be observed.
Charlotte is really just the best kiddo ever, which makes it hard to part with her lately. I’ve hated leaving her at school. It’s definitely MY problem, not hers. Each morning she asks hopefully if she’ll see her teacher and friends that day. When I say yes, she’s thrilled and so excited to hurry up and get there. So, while Charlotte is more than happy to wave bye-bye and start another fun day, I want to stay with her. Better yet, I want to take her to the park, go split an ice cream sundae, visit a book store with her, and go for a walk with her in her wagon.
Because I’m starting my maternity leave two weeks before D-Day, I’m hopeful that I’ll get a day or two to just soak up some last-minute Charlotte–Mommy time. I. Can’t. Wait.
In the meantime, we’ve been trying to squeeze in more family-of-three time. An extra trip to the park here and there, a fun day at the pool, and so on. This weekend’s goal: apple picking. Thankfully, Chris gets it—he too wants to spend some extra time with his little girl.
Is this some sort of instinctual thing? Like, an internal clock shouting FOCUS ON YOUR FIRST-BORN BEFORE THE NEWBORN BECOMES DICTATOR OF YOUR FAMILY! Or, am I just a little loony? I mean, I always love my girl and she always brings me joy, but this compulsion to be near her, this reverse clinginess, is weird, at least for me.
I sort of alluded to this in an email to my mum, and she said that she thought it was normal (woohoo! NORMAL!) to “relish the time you have left with Charlotte all by herself.” Then she decided to play psychologist and suggested that I’m preemptively feeling guilty for how Charlotte might feel shortchanged once Lorelei lands at our house. (A nail possibly got whacked on its head there.)
“Remember,” she said, “You’re not losing Charlotte. You’re just gaining another special little peanut. It rocks. It really does.”
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