Preparing for the worst
I made a pot of coffee in preparation for last night’s bedtime battle. I could see the animistic side of my child getting ready to pounce. I picked her up from her dad’s and her eyes were as wide as saucers. Rooferman put his foot in the door as soon as I knocked, and wouldn’t even let me in. He retrieved LB and handed her off to me on the porch.
I have an opportunity to work a school event this weekend and rack up a little extra cash, but I would have to give up my only full day with Boo Boo. Rooferman growled that he had to work too, so switching our days was out of the question. I wonder if his court date didn’t go so well. Looks like I will be bringing a 2-year-old to work with me on Saturday.
On the way home, LB said from the backseat, “Daddy too busy.”
I chugged my first cup of coffee while reading Curious George. LB proceeded to climb over the headboard of her toddler bed, slide down to the pillows and repeat the process throughout the duration of the story. I reached for my second cup.
After book 3, I said “Ok, time for nite nite.”
Lb said in a choked scream, “DON’T TURN THE LIGHTS OFF!”
I told her it was time for bed, but she didn’t have to lay down. She could play until she was tired, but mommy was leaving the room and closing the door. She protested as I walked towards the door. I told her I loved her and I would see her in the morning. She screamed “NO!” I closed the door. She started crying. I ran down the stairs, buzzing on caffeine.
Since I was wired, and prepared for the worst, I figured I should busy myself with housework and NOT settle down into relaxing netflix, blogging or book reading. I started the dishes. I banged pots and pans. I emptied the dishwasher and loaded it. I looked at the clock. It was 9:45 pm. LB had not emerged yet, but I knew I wasn’t out of the danger zone yet.
I then made the executive decision to bake banana bread. I don’t bake. I have failed at every high altitude baking project I’ve tried. But by 10:45, LB still hadn’t made an appearance. I had two loaves of Banana bread in the oven, and I’d even showered at that point.
Curiosity got the better of me, and I crept into her room. There she was, sleeping with the blanket pulled around her face, like The Baby Mary. Did she really put herself to bed? I couldn’t believe it. I even stayed up till midnight (aided by the damn coffee I drank), convinced she would wake up go to the darkside.
Hippie Counselor man told me that fear is 90% imagined, based on a single grain of truth. However, once fear is allowed to grow and build on itself, it gets to the point where it consumes and overwhelms you. The more fear controls you and the more your imagination dwells on it, the more likely you are to make a bad decision (or unable to make a decision at all).
For me, I am faced with a bad situation and I immediately think “This is how the rest of my life is going to be.” I don’t know if its my need to prepare for the worst, so I’m not as blindsided when bad things happen, but I’ve decided that mantra is no longer working for me. I can’t live with that level of defeat, because I’m going to end up seriously depressed, and then I’m going to end up eating my weight in chocolate or snorting pills again.
Yes, this transition has been hard for me and LB, but that doesn’t mean EVERY DAY is going to be hard. Some days are going to be good. Some days she will morph into a howling banshee, and I will stare at walls. But I’m discarding Pluto’s fatalistic “this is just how it is” crap. I spent too many miserable years with Rooferman under that umbrella.
I’m too old to be angst-filled, but too young to be a pessimist.