The Guilt

Oh man. Guilt. It's every mother's double edged sword. The favorite tool of getting your children to behave, yet the very kryptonite that leaves us incapacitated.

Let me explain.

Drake gets tired, and hates every thing in his tiny little life. This is how I know it is nap time, when he is crawling along the floor, sobbing in tears. It comes out of nowhere, no signals, no warning signs. BAM. He needs a nap NOW. He's a lot like Brian in this regard.

So in his crib he goes, with "aww are you sleepy? do you need a nappy poo?" and laid down with a bottle and his favorite Pooh rattle. If he is in the right zone, he takes his bottle and falls asleep before the nipple hits his lips. More often than not, he is FURIOUS at the prospect of a nap, and just screams his fool head off.

I kiss him on the head and tell him to take a nap anyway, and I leave.

This is where the guilt comes in. He cries. And cries. And cries. I go in there every few minutes to kiss him, lay him down, tell him blah blah blah you know that everything is okay, and I swear to God it's not really torture, just take a nap, you will feel better blah blah. He throws his bottle. He grabs my shirt, trying to climb out, and his little face is wrinkled up and drenched with snot and tears and drool. It breaks my heart. Because he doesn't have a "WWWAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH" cry. No, he has that heart breaking sob. That "booo hooo hoooo nobody loves me they make me eat worms and my life is like a fart" cry that makes you feel like you have truly severed his trust in you. Although he has always cried like that, even for diaper changes, it is still gut wrenching.

If I cave in, and bring him out, hold him, kiss him, tell him it's okay and we can just play some more, he still cries anyway. Because he is tired, and he hates his tiny little life at this point. Nothing makes him happy. He just cries. So back to bed he goes, and the whole cycle repeats.

And I am torn with guilt. I know that what I am doing is what works for us. He sits there and cries his tantrum out, with me peeking in every few minutes to tell him the world has not ended, and eventually, he realizes he needs sleep. But it kills me he cries. I have no idea what to do.

So I blog about it, hoping that other moms will send me a drink (vodka or Bailey's, please!) and tell me it's okay to go cry in a corner. Or at least, give me some advice. If you have any. If not, that's cool. I'm going to go sob now.