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Karma, Karma, Chameleon…

(I didn’t think I was such a big fan of 80s & early 90s pop hits until I started writing this blog. It seems I can never resist a chance to “pop” one in somewhere. And, it’s not just in this blog. I was recently reprimanded for trying to tell my sister for the 4th or 5th time about an episode I caught of the Bobby Brown reality show in which Bobby meets a man at the bar who doesn’t recognize him, so he keeps naming off all of his hits like “Toni Roni” and “My Perogative”. Still the man doesn’t recognize him until he mentions Whitney Houston. It really made an impression on me. I thought it was one of the funniest moments I’d ever witnessed. I kept singing “It’s my perogative. I can do what I wanna do. It’s my perogative…” and moving my head in some stiff roboto-like motion back and forth and back and forth. My sister was getting sick. That’s when I busted out with the entire first and second verse of “Ice, Ice Baby”. What’s happening to me?)

Anyhow, on to the karma.

I felt the need to share a bit of my personal irony. This time, I’ll keep it short.

Basically, I just finished sharing with a group of mothers how easy Silas has become. How we had “hell to pay” when he was between 1-4 months old, but how now, like a little cherub, he takes his naps and eats his meals like clockwork. How I can attribute this not only to Silas’s angelic temperament (okay, I’m taking it a little overboard here), but also to my consistency and hard work.

Oh, how incredibly smug.

Yes, I’m sure you know what comes next. You can’t wait. You’d like to see me eat my words and then some…

Well, the morning I finished sharing my bits of mommy wisdom about adhering to baby’s natural need for routine and preserving time for napping and playing, Silas began to resist me.

For several days now, nap time has become hellish and unbearable. He has begun straightening his legs so I can’t get him in his high chair. He has begun throwing fits if I don’t give him Cheerios. He has been screaming and kicking and if I didn’t know better, I’d say he’s been cussing me. He must have picked up that filthy language from the episodes of the Sopranos I watched while I was pregnant. (I certainly don’t use that kind of yuck-yuck around here!)

Right now, as I type this, he is caught in a raging torrent of temper tantrum and I am trying to decide what to do… give in or remain stern.

Honestly, I don’t think I can take it!

So, for all of the women that I pissed off by acting like our little routine was so fool proof and attractive. I’m terribly sorry. You can imagine me now, sitting here, unkempt and harried, eating my piece of humble pie.

I was also asked to mention that while I was writing last night’s man-bash, my husband, unbeknownst to me, was cleaning the kitchen to a sparkle. It’s true.

It seems like I have a lot of repenting to do. So, if you’ll please excuse me, I am going to rescue my persistent, wild-eyed son from his nap.

Again, I’m terribly sorry. And, thank you.

This entry was posted on Thursday, June 26th, 2008 at 9:21 am and is filed under Miscellaneous. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.