Mummy guilt is real

You never really understand what mummy guilt is till you become a mother yourself.

Last night was a case in point. Armed with a not-so-great memory as I have come to admit myself, I thought I really ought to take this web journal a little seriously. Hopefully the internet doesn’t shut down on us, taking with it all these memories and snapshots we have uploaded.

Little B has for some reason developed yet another cold. I could blame it on a multitude of things and never find out the real reason why. In any case, I’ve now moved him to sleep in the living room in his cot, and me, on the sofa. E on the other hand, has been sleeping with his papa in the master bedroom on our bed.

Usually E would ask for me a few times before he falls asleep (through the night). Last night, he did fall asleep at his usual 10.30/11pm bedtime but woke up crying at 1.30am or so saying he wanted to “poo poo” (which meant either he really needed to poo or pee because he still can’t differentiate the two). We are going through Day 3 of day-time toilet training so maybe it’s interrupting his sleep? Who knows.

After which, father and son head back to the bedroom and E calls for me and wants me to sleep with him. I leave my sofa ‘guardpost’ feeling guilty because little B is having this stuffy nose and I want to make sure he’s ok by being close. I lay on the bed at E’s request, literally¬†perched at the foot of the bed, acting as a human barrier so that E doesn’t roll off.

I mentally cross my fingers that E goes into deep sleep soon so that I can sneak out to little B. It doesn’t happen. E insists on sleeping on the bed and makes a huge fuss when we move him into his playpen. He tosses and turns and the hubbs and I play a nasty game of catch-the-kid-before-he-falls-off-the-bed-real-bad. All this time, I’m trying my best to perk my ears up in case little B awakens. It’s more than just tiring and before we know it, it’s 2.30am and I hear little B whimpering.

I rush out as quietly as I can but E still realises I’m gone and calls out for me, to which I can only say, “Didi needs to drink milk.” and hopes he understands. I pick up B in the living room and hear E making a bit of a fuss in the master bedroom before it goes quiet. As I nurse on the sofa in the dark, I can only hope that E has tired himself out and fallen asleep, and that papa can carry him into his playpen so that he can get some rest himself.

I told a friend yesterday that women have it worse. We suffer through pregnancy, childbirth, post-partum and then we go on these roller coaster of emotions when it comes to our babies. Men don’t get (so) emotional about these things, whereas us women are built this way. It wasn’t a pleasant night, but I know that this too shall pass and when it does, I will look back, all teary-eyed and wonder where all the time went.


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