Mommies dearest

Perhaps Gabriella is NOT the Mary Poppins stay-at-home mother I’d thought she’d be. There have been a few happy lessons that have come from Gabriella’s unemployment. This is one of them. Not that I want her to do a bad job. She’s actually pretty amazing. But, she’s not perfect. Who knew?

When I came home from drop-off this morning, Gabriella was having words with Levi while Levi was bawling and screaming.

“Alright, Levi! I’ve had it!! Oh, quit your boo-hooing!” I couldn’t help laughing at that one. What you need to understand is that Gabriella is Italian through and through. Her mother was the quintessential Italian mother who thought her children could do no wrong. I don’t know that she ever raised her voice or spoke a harsh word to her precious piccirida (Sicilian for daughters).

Gabriella inherited quite a bit of that mothering instinct. No one of sound mind enjoys hearing babies cry. The sad whaling of babies can be irritating or heart-wrenching, and we all go to great lengths to turn them off. When Asher was a baby and cried and cried, Gabriella suffered a pain I can only equate to a slow, bubbling hot bikini wax of the soul. It was difficult to know which one of them to comfort first. But as sleep deprivation compounded over months, I had no sense of humour and no patience for anything or anybody-including my dear, beloved Gabriella.

I was the nursing mom-the walking milk machine; a constant reminder that the Italian mother could not feed her baby-a super hero stripped of her powers. Every time that little baby of ours cried, Gabriella assumed that eating would solve everything, and she would ask, “Did you feed him?” “Is he hungry?” “When was the last time he ate?” She would stop just shy of chasing me around our house with Asher and latching him on to me herself to get some food in him. “Gabriella, genug already! He just ate. He might be tired or he might have wind or he might be bored or he might hate you as much as I do right now!”

Finally, I presented a plan which I thought was well-received. “Gabriella, I’ve read the books. I’ve consulted with friends and physicians. You need to let me try to sooth Asher in my own way. How about this? When I am holding Asher, I’ll ask you for your advice. If I don’t, you are not to give me any unless you feel I am harming him. The same will hold true for you.” “That’s fair.” This was progress. Shortly thereafter, we turned in for the night.

Asher slept in our bed the first few months of his life-not because we were committed to attachment parenting or co-sleeping but because I was too tired to schlep in and out of bed every few hours. That night after having instituted the new rules, Asher started to cry. It was late. Gabriella was sound asleep but not for long. I knew that he wasn’t hungry because he had just eaten, but the best way to keep him quiet so Gabriella could sleep was to give him the boob. I was evaluating the situation when she stirred and slowly turned to look up at me from half-closed eyes and started to utter “Should you fee...”

My blood started to boil as soon as she opened her mouth. With Asher cradled in my right arm, I used my left hand to seize hold of the collar of Gabriella’s t-shirt and pulled her towards me so that she could not/would not move. The voice that snuck out from behind my clenched teeth was unrecognizable to both of us. I was tired and fed up and that partner of mine was about to give me advice at 3:30 in the morning. I sounded like a possessed Brenda Vaccaro when I growled slowly and forcefully in her face,

“SHUUUUT! UUUUUP!”

I opened my fist, and released her t-shirt. She rolled over and said absolutely nothing-stunned and afraid of the inner beast that had just been released. Sleep deprivation is an ugly thing. That was the beginning of the desensitisation of Gabriella.

We’ve come a long way! Asher is 5. Levi is 2. Gabriella is still far more nurturing and patient than I am, but she isn’t the softy she used to be. And since she’s been at home? Fuggetaboudit! She’s downright mean sometimes. Makes an unfeeling girl like me feel all happy inside that I’m not the Mommy Dearest to her June Cleaver.

After this morning’s altercation with Levi, Gabriella decided to take him to the grocery store. She grabs my grocery list off the fridge. I make the list. She shops. It works for us. What works even better for me is that she often takes one of the boys with her. Hey, it’s tough to find free things to do in the winter time. And in this case, a trip in the car might improve Levi’s mood. Grocery shopping can also be a learning opportunity. Gabriella teaches the boys about produce and tries to get him to sniff the fresh herbs (where the H is NOT silent because we lived in the UK, and we’re affected that way. At least we don’t say lef-tenant for lieutenant. That’s just dumb!)

She reviews my list to see if I have added my occasional special items for her shopping pleasure:

• Bread
• Clit mix
• Eggs
• Soy milk
• Carrots
• Bananas
• Inner thigh flank
• Butter
• Whipped crème de vagine
• Mango juice

A smirk and out the door. She made it to the store only to call me to tell me that they were on their way home without a single item. Levi was mid-tantrum and was lying on the floor screaming. "I'm bringing him home...but not before taking a picture with my cell phone!" That’s my girl! Mommies Dearest unite!!