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Lifes Like That: Just call me Shmuck!
Sarah Carson
for Spotlight
Ben & Jack are no strangers to tough love, and I have to say, it’s paid off.
Even though bedtime can be a real circus fest and I often have to threaten their little lives before they actually cut the crap, once asleep, they are down and out for the count.
A nightmare will bring them to my bed and find me waking to a set of knees in my back or drooled-on hair, but those nights are few and far between.
Let me begin by reminding you that Sammy is the baby. My last baby.
And he’s very, very cute. (Nature’s way of protecting him from my urges to hurl his tiny body into the nearest snow bank on my 4th or 5th trip into his room at night.)
Usually Sam waits until I’m just falling asleep to begin our evening entertainment, and then the howling begins.
The first few times bring me leaping out of bed and jogging down the hallway to grab a soother conveniently located on his dresser (or, you know, the one sitting right in front of him in the damn crib) and popping it into the gaping hole that is his mouth.
The fun really starts at about 2:00 a.m. The soother supply on the dresser has run out, so after I crawl around the floor in the dark and find one, I suck the dust off and stick it half-heartedly into Sammy’s gob.
But I know that this time the soother just won’t cut it, and sure enough, Fog-Horn Sammy goes into another round of wails, arms extended, little fingers reaching for me.
Do I leave him to cry it out, secure in the knowledge that so many parenting books just cannot be wrong and with his brothers as perfect examples of what tough love can do?
No. No, I do not. I droop, beg, plea with myself to turn away, and then repeat the same mistake that I do every night.
I pick him up – the word “SUCKER” burning furiously into my forehead. His little body wraps around mine and he snuggles – in a way that he would never do during daylight hours – and I’m totally taken in.
After I groggily make him a completely un-necessary bottle of milk, he settles back down, and I stupidly drag myself back to my own room.
I know I’m up for another morning of trying to repair the damages wrought from not enough sleep.
I try not to bark too much at the boys before school, and I pull out my arsenal of creams in an attempt to repair the bags under my eyes. At this rate, mothers will shield small children and cross the street when they see me coming. (Sigh).
Ah well.
On the bright side, things are looking up for my acting career. I’m a shoo-in for lead zombie in the next remake of Night of the Living Dead...
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