Mom Radar

It’s crazy how once you have kids this weird, instinctual “Mom Radar” kicks in. 

I’ve never been a heavy sleeper, and can’t remember the last time I slept an entire night without waking up (it was well before having kids).  After Eli was born, he slept in our room.  That is, until we couldn’t take it anymore.  I swear all he would do is sigh and I would bolt upright, wide awake.  Is he okay?  Is he breathing?  Having him close meant fewer seconds of panic, and almost immediate reassurance. 

However, the slightest little fuss, coo, or kick would wake me up.  Vinny learned to sleep through it all pretty quickly, as he is a heavy sleeper, and has never woken up during the night since (either that, or he puts on a really convincing show in the name of not wanting to get up).  After a few weeks of this up-even-when-the-baby-isn’t-hungry-crying-etc. routine I was desperate for sleep, so I decided it was time to move Eli to his crib.

Well, that was harder than I anticipated, too.  Sure, he was only maybe twenty feet away in the next room, but that short space felt like miles to me.  What if I couldn’t hear him?  What if something happened and it took me longer to discover something had gone awry? 

People like to say, “Well, I don’t know if the baby is ready to move into his/her crib in his/her own room yet.”  Fess up, people.  It has nothing to do with the baby and everything to do with our own comfort and need to have the baby close. 

So I was torn.  Baby close and no sleep or baby slightly further away and potential for no sleep because I’m panicked?  I decided there wasn’t much of a difference sleep-wise and gave it a try. 

The first night was rough.  I probably got up ten times just to check on him.  So I couldn’t make the call either way after that trial.

The next night I was a bit calmer (and wouldn’t you know, really, really tired … maybe from getting up so many times the night before?), and fell asleep quickly.

Here’s the amazing part, friends:  Mom Radar works even at a distance. 

I don’t know how or why, but if either of these kids wakes up and makes even the slightest fussing noise I wake up.  Sure, they may be into a full-fledged wail by the time I actually get to their bedside, but it’s never taken them getting to that point before I wake up.  And somehow, I only seem to wake up when they actually need me, and not for every little sigh, coo, or kick.  It’s a beautiful thing.  

Here’s the equally amazing part:  Mom Radar only works with kids.  Vinny can get up in the middle of the night, toss and turn, cough, elbow me in the head, etc., but if I’m already asleep this does not wake me up.

And of course, Mom Radar works during the day, too.  I suspect it’s one of those “perks” of being a mom that never goes away.  But it has saved a few spills off the couch and other such catastrophes (though by no means all). 

I’m sure there’s some kind of headache-inducing scientific explanation for all this.  Mostly I find it very cool, and know I can rely on Mom Radar on any given night, although there are moments where I wish to once again be a heavy enough sleeper that my husband was bolted awake before me.  Just for one night.

What-ifs, Worry and Windows

I’m currently reading A Map of the World, by Jane Hamilton.  I’m nearly 100 pages in and am not sure I’ll be able to continue (I’ll explain in a moment).  The premise so far is both intriguing and horrifying: A woman is watching her friend’s children and one of them (a two-year old) drowns in her pond.

The reader in me wants to continue to see what the aftershocks of such an event are and how the protagonist deals with them.  The writer in me is increasingly annoyed with the author’s writing style, in particular her use of dialogue.  At times I can barely stand it, the way the characters speak to one another, the way they always address each other by name (think about it, how often to you address the person sitting across from you by name?).  Suffice it to say, I’m hanging in for now. 

Reading frustrations aside, the mother in me is getting put through the wringer.  What a gut-wrenching ordeal this woman is going through.  When it came to the scene of the little girl’s funeral I had to put the book down.  I was in a waiting room and could barely keep myself from crying.  No one needs to see that.

Beyond its entertainment purposes, the book has led me to consider regret, guilt and worry.  I’ve realized that in many ways these are hallmark emotions when it comes to parenting.  Well, at least the dark hallmark emotions.

Growing up it exasperated me how much my mom worried.  She was, and still is, a huge worrywart.  I don’t know how many times I said to her, “Mom, I’ll be FINE.”  To me, it seemed a huge waste of time and energy to worry about things that would almost certainly never happen.  I’d come home from doing whatever it was she was worrying about and say, “See?  I’m fine.”

Could something have gone wrong?  Sure.  Did her worrying keep me safe?  No.  Had something happened is there anything she could have done about it?  No.

But, I know with certainty that if something bad had happened, she would have been racked with guilt and regret.  These emotions seem to go hand-in-hand, traveling together at all times.

Now that I’m a parent, I have a new appreciation for what my mom (and dad) were going through every time we set foot outside the house without them.  Now I think to myself, “How did they let us leave the house?”  Because when I think about either of my kids leaving and going off to do their own thing, on their own or with friends, I nearly have a panic attack.  Just thinking about it.  No one’s going anywhere yet, and already I’m freaking out. 

I also find myself freaking out over the “what-if” scenarios.  Right now my biggest worry-related obsession is our second story windows.  When we looked at the house last fall all I saw were huge windows in every room letting in all kinds of natural light.  In Michigan this is important as the winter months are dreary and gray, and, after living in California for nearly nine years I am used to sunshine nearly every day.  Yes! I thought to myself, these windows are amazing!

It’s worth noting that our house is over 100 years old and our windows have these annoying “pop in” screens.  In my nightmare the kids are a little older, playing in the room, I leave the room to grab a Kleenex (or whatever) and when I come back one of them has pushed out a screen and tumbled two stories to the ground below. 

I hate that I even think about this.  It makes me feel ill every time I do. 

So, naturally, I am paranoid about letting Eli play in his room with the windows open.  My husband is in the process of building screens for all the windows, but I’m still not satisfied that they’ll be secure enough, so now I’m on the hunt for some kind of window guard.

Regardless, I never would have thought of any of this before having kids.  I wouldn’t have imagined someone falling out a window.  I wouldn’t allow myself these kinds of panic-inducing indulgences.

But that’s what you do.  You worry about things that may or (more likely) may not be a true hazard.

As for regret, I have always stood by the belief that there are no regrets, only mistakes you learn from.  In theory this makes sense, but in practice it’s a whole other story. 

So the book is a challenge to me.  Of course what happens is a mistake, the woman would never intentionally let a small child wander out of her house and down to the pond.  But how could you not be consumed by guilt and regret?  I wonder how, if something so disastrous happened to me, would I even be able to forgive myself? 

Thankfully my challenges as a parent are less harrowing, but I am thankful for the food for thought, the what-if-something-like-this-happened-to-me opportunity that reading provides.  At the end of the night I can close the book and go to sleep, distracted from my window obsession.   

I can worry about it tomorrow.