Bun Bun vs. Mama
Mama and I have gotten along quite well since I was a fetus. I like to think I’ve been good to her–I’ve slept a great deal and hardly cried at all ever since I was born. Sure, I may have made her nipples bleed, but that was only because I’m such an eager and efficient eater. I’ve never been sick a day in my life, and I’ve given her a delightful crop of hair to entertain herself with, and loads of smiles. What more could a mama want?
And I’ll be fair: she’s been pretty good to me, too. She gives me lots of kisses, and has the tastiest breastmilk. Why, just last night, I got carrot-ginger soup breastmilk with notes of oatmeal chocolate chip cookie. Delicious! She does her best to entertain me, too, and if I’m bored to death by those three toys she’s always pulling out, well…I try to be polite.
But it seems we’ve hit a bump with this whole self-soothing business. First, let me be clear. I’m perfectly capable of self-soothing. What the hell* does she think I do when I wake up in the middle of the night? I KNOW she hears me sucking on my hands. And then I go back to sleep, don’t I? DON’T I?!? Yes. Yes, I do. SO WHAT if sometimes when she puts me to bed at night I need a little extra help falling asleep? SO WHAT if sometimes I don’t want to go down for a nap? Is it my fault she let me get over-tired? Certainly not.
And I feel a bit bad for saying this, but it’s clear she has NO IDEA what she’s doing. On one occasion she’ll let me wail for ten minutes while standing there looking like a trapped animal, and on another occasion I have only to let out a few shrieks and she’ll scoop me up and snuggle me. What on earth is she thinking?
She keeps telling me she wants me to learn to fall asleep without her, but I DO, some of the time. And she says she wants me to grow up to be a self-actualized, independent person, whatever the hell that is, not a needy, clinging brat, as if I could ever become such a thing.
I mean for fuck’s sake, I am only barely capable of voluntarily rolling myself over into whichever position I feel like being in. And sometimes when I get upset, I forget how. And my fat little legs and arms are constantly getting caught in the bars of this stupid sleeping cage she puts me in–what does she expect!
SO. Could you people PLEASE tell her that all this exploring your limits and experimenting with your ability to self soothe is just unnecessary? When I cry, the correct response is to pick me up and snuggle me, with that swinging back and forth thing that makes her creaky old knees hurt. Not sitting down, standing. Every time.
It’s so obvious, even to me, and I’m only a baby.
*I know such language is shocking in a baby, but like my mama, I believe in the value of a good expletive.