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The boys are both in bed and it’s not even 9 o’clock.  And instead of playing silly games or watching mindless riff-raff, I am here with you dear reader. 

Don’t you feel special?!?

So this going to bed thing.  It’s quite divine.  In fact, I am, yet again, celebrating the silence.  This time I’m trying a coffee laced with dark rum.  It’s pretty disgusting.  But if it makes me feel warm and fuzzy and all happy to be alive then I’ll try it. 

I should state that I do celebrate without the use of alcohol.  On occasion.

So, this beddie bye thing.

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I just finished telling a friend about how great it is that we’ve decided to let Silas cry it out. It’s so damn liberating, I said. He still cries sometimes when we put him down, but nothing like the first night. And, he’s so much happier, I said. He never cries when he’s awake anymore. I have so much more time. My husband and I are starting to spend time together again. We’re planning a trip to a cabin in the mountains. I’m writing. It may be the best thing we’ve ever done as parents. It’s so damn liberating!

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I only have time for a quick note because I’m supposed to be working on homework. (I am working on my Master’s in Library and Information Science.) But, not only is the little guy sound asleep. Not only has he been asleep since 8:30pm. BUT, we put him down awake and he may have whimpered a little but he didn’t cry! Hello?!?

So, he’s out like a light. I’m so excited that I am tempted to open one of the two remaining bottles of wine that I shipped to myself from Italy last year. But, I won’t. I’m going to save them to celebrate something a little less barbaric than the fact that we just let him “cry it out”. Yes, we did. And, don’t be fooled. I’m opening another bottle– just not one of the ones I shipped from Italy.

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So this afternoon I developed a mantra, albeit an unusual one, a mantra just the same. In an attempt to look at my situation with a glass half full approach, I found myself repeating these words over and over in my head: lots of people wish they could be enjoying a beer and a good book in the middle of the afternoon. Just ignore that creature gnawing at your left hand and you could be anywhere. A dark pub full of handsome Beatniks. A tavern down a dusty set of stairs in Rome. On a blanket on Miami-friggin’-beach!

Instead, I was parked on an exercise ball beside my child’s crib, staring at the bowl of cooling and thus congealing lemon grass and coconut soup that was supposed to be my lunch, with a beer in my right hand, a book balanced on my lap, and my forefinger and thumb strategically placed in Silas’s mouth so that he had less of a chance of actually biting me. Motherhood a balancing act?!? Whatever do you mean?