Mean Mom

Jack is a mama's boy.

In many ways, I love this.  I adore being the only person he will calm down for when he is crabby.  I cherish the fact that he will fall asleep in my arms after screaming bloody murder for anyone else who comes near him.

Other times it is a little bit trying.  Sometimes it would be nice to get a break from the clinginess.  Also too, I feel bad when he wails and wails with Lewis, but the calms right down for me.  Jack loves his dad, but when he's upset, I am usually the only one that will do.

But with great power comes great responsibility.  Since I am the one who brings comfort to his blessed little heart, any time he gets hurt it is all my fault because I didn't prevent it.

Even if I am no where near him at the time.


Jack was being a sweetie this afternoon, but I was tired and wanted a nap and he was very much awake. So I handed him off to Lewis so that I could get some shut eye.  About fifteen minutes later I hear Jack being wailing and sit up to see Lewis wiping blood from his forehead.  Apparently Jack, who just had his nails trimmed the other day, had scratched himself bad enough to break the skin (I still can't figure out how this happened - none of his nails were nearly sharp enough).

We of course felt the need to cut his nails right away to make sure this wouldn't happen again.  This is a hard enough task when Jack is asleep.  It's near impossible when he is screaming and flailing and arching his back in an all-out melt down.

Eventually we succeeded and I gathered Jack into my arms and held him close, rocking back and forth.  When he's upset like that, I can normally calm him down in about thirty seconds.

Not today.

I spent the next hour rocking him, walking him, bouncing him, singing to him, rubbing his belly, and trying to feed him - a move that until today, always worked in calming him down.

Finally, frustrated, I deposited him into his father's arms with a, "You try something."  Lewis looked at me like I was crazy, but took up the charge with honor, starting by changing Jack's diaper.  After completing that task, the two of them settled down on the couch together.  Jack still had tears flowing, but he was no longer yelling and his breathing was slowing down.  He was finally relaxing after an hour of screaming.

As he calmed, Jack looked across to the other side of the couch, looked me straight in the eye, and glared  like I was the worst mother in the world, making occasional sobs and moans of distress.  He continued giving me this icy stare of betrayal until he fell asleep, hic-sobbing.  He has been sleeping/hic-sobbing ever since.

Luckily for me, Jack lacks a significant amount of long-term memory.

But maybe his dad will now be a suitable source of comfort for the little monkey.  One can only hope.