Category Archives: Gentle Discipline

The hardest thing about being a parent

“Noooo! Start the next chapter!”

As I was doing bedtime with the kids last night, I suddenly realized what for me has been the hardest part of being a parent: It’s the feeling that you’re never doing enough.

I don’t mean that in an abstract, perfectionist-y kind of way. I mean that literally my children are always asking more of me.

T (my oldest) was dragging his feet getting ready for bed tonight & wasn’t ready (despite lots of gentle prodding) until “lights out” time. Which meant there was no time for reading. Except I know that no reading really sucks, so I told him I’d read to him for a measly 5 minutes. When that came to an end (&, really, I’m 99% sure we went past 5 minutes because, I’m a sucker & love reading to him…), he pleaded for more time. This, despite the fact that he ran out of time, I still read more than I said I would & should have had no time at all.

Now, some authoritarian-minded parents might tell me, with some kernel of truth, that I’m reaping what I’ve sown. In other words, I didn’t stick to the firm limits I had set, so of course he’s going to ask for more!

But I know that bedtime without reading just doesn’t work. And he was none the wiser to the fact that I went over the 5-minute limit I had set. I simply said, “time’s up!” & shut the book.

And had we had time to read for an hour, he would have still asked for more. That’s just how my kids work. And I suspect I am not alone.

I live in a universe that is the exact opposite of the beautiful Neil Young lines: “Will I see you give more than I can take? Will I only harvest some?”

To answer (your entirely rhetorical) questions, Mr. Young: No, I will see them take more than I can give! No, they will not only harvest some. They will gladly take it all.

Or, at least it feels like that sometimes.

And then I start to wonder: Okay, even if it is not just my kids, is it just American kids? Western kids? Kids with some amount of privilege?

Am I doing something wrong? (Well, to answer that not-entirely rhetorical question: Yes. Plenty.)

Or is there something else going on?

Babies ask for the moon & the sun. Hold me. Feed me. Love me. Rock me. Show me. Touch me. Help me. Comfort me.

In the beginning, they take all we can give & more. It’s instinctual. They beckon us with a yelp or a cry. Then with a smile or a coo.

I never questioned the necessity of those asks. I just gave.

Yet, at some point I started to construe those asks, those demands on me, as selfish.

At 21 months, I’m definitely not there with M (my youngest). At 9 years, I’m definitely there with T.

But why? What changed? And, when?

Nothing’s really changed, but everything has. He’s pulling away, developing into his own individual identity. But when he needs me…. It’s like a rubber band pulled taught & then released; man, it snaps back with a vengeance.

He needs those moments when we’re both at ease & open to each other & alone. And, thirsty & in need, he drinks them up (as do I, honestly). (To wit: laying in his bed with a book we both adore, unconsciously leaning towards me until we’re in full-on cuddle mode.)

His needs are real. And while he’s at an age where I can say “no” or “later” & expect him to understand, at least in normal circumstances (like an average bedtime), I have to still find a way to fill those needs.

And I think that’s where I struggle. Especially with a young toddler who is still at an age where limits are difficult, to say the least, it can be difficult to manage & navigate their needs while not completely neglecting my own needs as a human being.

But what I’ve come to realize is that the demand for “more” is real & does not mean that my children are particularly selfish.

I’m simply playing a constant game of catch-up, trying to figure out how to meet their needs in developmentally appropriate ways. That’s the really hard work. The true challenge & calling of being a parent.

What do we offer to our children to harvest?

More lyrics, this time from Beach House: “It won’t last forever. Or maybe it will.”

I hope it will. At least, I hope that my relationship will persist with my children to the extent that a small part of them will always need me. I realize the upheaval of adolescence is just around the corner, really, with adulthood to follow. I hope to be there every step of the way with something to offer.


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Becoming a sleep iconoclast: How I found my way without sleep training

icon • o • clast : noun : a person who attacks settled beliefs or institutions (Merriam-Webster)

This is the second post in a series about how I came to be a sleep iconoclast. Check out part one for why I quit the rat race of sleep training. This post is about how my family manages to get enough sleep without caring too much about what the clock says.

We left off with why you should consider ignoring the advice of most so-called sleep “experts,” with the exception of writers like Elizabeth Pantley & Sarah Ockwell-Smith.

At some point, though, you have to put aside the books, log off, & tune into your unique situation. So, that’s the first thing I did on my path to sleep freedom: I stopped reading about sleep. In fact, I gave away my copy of Pantley’s book. I also (mostly) stopped reading about sleep online.

Then, after learning to expertly read Baby M’s tired signs & acting on them swiftly, the second thing I did on my own was to stop tracking night wakings. This was absolutely life-changing. I didn’t look at the clock when the baby woke up. I didn’t count how many times she woke up in the night. I always tried laying her down initially, but I didn’t track whether she stayed down for five minutes or an hour.

This move was so freeing, I cannot even explain! Sure, I still intuitively knew if we have a more interrupted night than usual, but by not cataloguing the baby’s sleep, even mentally, I stopped judging & evaluating every. single. night! (I have to admit, I am not so loosey-goosey as to turn on the light & let Baby M play in the middle of the night. To the extent that I keep our world dark at night & don’t engage in active play when the baby wakes, I suppose I engage in some sleep “training.” But we never insist that either child has to be alone or asleep at any point, day or night.)

As a corollary to not tracking nighttime wakings, I also stopped timing naps & “insisting” that naps be a certain proscribed minimum length. We judge how successful a nap is by Baby M’s mood upon waking. If she’s upset or extremely groggy, we know the nap has been too short & we try to nurse or rock her to sleep again. If she’s happy but the nap seemed a bit short, we follow her lead—We know we can’t force her to sleep.

Third up, we stopped caring about how or where the baby sleeps. Again, we follow her cues. Sometimes (less so now that she’s 1 1/2 year old) we hold her for an entire nap or for a long time at night. Sometimes she has good stretches in her bed. When she was smaller she napped in a bassinet connected to our bed or in a pack ‘n play in the living room. She always ends up in bed, next to me at night. We bed-share for some naps on weekends & we also let her nap & sleep in the baby carrier, the stroller, the car seat, etc.

We keep to a general (& very brief) routine, but this baby is a part of a busy family & sometimes naps happen on the go. Sometimes an accidental cat-nap is actually just what she needs.

We also trust that when she needs us, she needs us, so we’re ok with holding & co-sleeping & bed-sharing. (Regarding bed-sharing, I found the La Leche League’s guidelines for safe bed-sharing to be very helpful.)

Fourth, I have learned to expect disruptions. Teething, developmental “leaps,” illness, travel, changes to the daily routine … the list goes on & on. Sometimes there’s no reason at all for a sleep disruption (or at least not one I can discern).

These disruptions happen to all families, whether they sleep train or not. The difference is how you react to those disruptions. But no matter whether it makes sense to you or not, your child is communicating a real need to you.

For example, lately, I notice that, on Mondays, after being together for a few days, Baby M misses me & this changes her sleep patterns. Her brother heads off to school, I go to the office, & her dad heads off to work too. She adores her babysitter, but come Monday night, she just wants to reconnect with me & nurse a lot. All night. It’s ok. It’s exhausting, but it’s a real need & I’ll survive. And I plan accordingly.

…Which leads me to my last adjustment. Planning for sleep for you! It’s obviously important to prioritize getting enough rest for the entire family, especially for yourself if you’re the primary nighttime parent.

Admittedly, this is not easy when I’m following my baby’s lead when it comes to sleep. But I need to be functional every morning at work. Our son needs to get to school. My partner has to find time to get his work done. So here’s the inconvenient secret: An early bedtime for everyone.

When I first went back to work, I went to sleep with the kids. At, like, 8:00! As Baby M started sleeping for a stretch on her own early in the night & I find I have to be vigilant & force myself to not stay up too late. I aim to be asleep (or at least in bed) no later 9:30.

This way, I am sure to get an aggregate of adequate sleep. Even for adults, our sleep patterns are more malleable than you might expect. In fact, the idea that we need a solid eight-hour block of sleep may be more of a cultural creation than a real biological need. Prior to the Industial Revolution, the normal adult sleep pattern was a night of sleep broken into two segments, between which people actually embraced being awake & engaing in activity!

I’m not going to lie: A night with a lot of wakings is tough to weather. But if I get a few solid chunks of sleep that add up to around eight hours, I’m okay. (You may be different, in which case you may need to engage your partner, if you have one, more often or find ways to gently nudge your child toward longer stretches. No judgment… you gotta be your own iconoclast!)

Unfortunately, an early bedtime also means that time alone with my partner suffers. My nighttime social life (to the extent that I had one!) is almost nonexistent. And, as my son has noted, family movie night has been ruined by the baby!

I just have to remind myself (& my family) that this phase will pass. For now, my partner & I consciously plan to spend time together after work or during naps on the weekends. And I try to meet friends during the day or visit as a family.

The hard reality of being a parent is that it’s a 24/7 job. It’s up to me how I react to that reality. I’ve chosen to enjoy it.


I love to smell M’s soft hair in the night. I enjoy my older child’s snuggles when he decides to climb into bed with us. (Not so much the kicks to the back…)

Of course, I don’t enjoy feeling groggy or grumpily sleep-deprived. I try to look at a crappy night of sleep as an excuse for an extra cup of delicious coffee. But Baby M is sick right now & last night I basically didn’t sleep. It sucked. No amount of coffee can make that okay.

But when my children are grown, I will look back at these years knowing that I did the best I could to savor the sweetness buried in the challenges of day-to-day (or night-to-night) life with young children.

And that is why I’m now a devoted sleep iconoclast! I hope you also find your own way!

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Becoming a Sleep Iconoclast: Why I broke up with sleep training

icon • o • clast : noun : a person who attacks settled beliefs or institutions (Merriam-Webster)

For the most part, I have avoided writing about sleep. Some years ago, not long after starting this blog, I wrote a series of posts adapting Attachment Parenting International’s principles of attachment parenting for working moms. When I got to the topic of sleep, I faltered. Ultimately, rather than tackle the topic, I abandoned the series all together.

Not only did I feel I had nothing to say worth reading about sleep, but my son’s sleep situation made me feel embarrassed. It was one area where I felt I was a complete parenting failure. (I have failed & continue to fail in many, many ways, but I felt I was a categorical failure when it came to sleep.)

My son didn’t sleep. Or couldn’t sleep. Or so I thought. He slept on someone. And when he woke up, forget about it. It was back to square one with the nursing & the bouncing & the rocking & the delicate operation that was laying him down in his crib. Forget about naps. We were lucky to get 15-25 minutes in the early days!

At the time, I just assumed that even AP families were supposed to be able to put their little ones down for a bit of independent sleep now & again. Looking back now, I see how cultural norms surrounding sleep crept into my attempt at AP nighttime parenting. I shouldn’t have assumed anything…

Beyond the sheer exhaustion that ensued for those first 2 years or so, the whole situation made me doubt everything about my parenting. Was I nursing too much? Not pumping enough? Not giving him the right solids during the day? Cosleeping too much? Too little? Studying too much? Working too much? Giving him too much stimulation during the day? Not enough?

Sleep, it turns out, is a big deal in the parenting world not only because there’s never enough of it at the right times, but also because it bleeds into all aspects of the early parenting journey.

And in American parenting culture (which is “independence”- & dominance-driven, rather than collaborative), sleep is a key barometer for your success or failure as a parent. I was clearly failing because my son did not sleep, at least not in the right ways.

And here’s a big admission: Because I misconstrued sleep as a key to parenting success, I got angry a lot at bedtime. This started in his infancy & continued through his two’s, after he transitioned to a big kid bed. I think this is perhaps why I’m most embarrassed by this episode in my mothering journey. I tried so hard to be a gentle parent, respectful of my son’s needs, but I just lost my temper so often at night. I never harmed my son physically & I was usually successful in bottling my anger, but I’m sure my tone & words were less than kind on some many nights. I often had to just walk away.

I was & am ashamed of this. If I could do one thing over with my son, it would be all about sleep.

What’s different today? I am an exhausted, bed-sharing/co-sleeping mother to a 1 1/2 year old who still nurses a lot at night & has unpredictable nighttime patterns… But, I’m mostly okay with this. That last bit is the big difference: My attitude has shifted.

And, so, with some perspective on my experience with my son & additional experience with the baby, I feel like I can & should write about sleep.

When I had my daughter, I was determined to not repeat the mistakes I made with my son & in the process I discovered something: Sleep “training” is nothing more than a cottage industry offering books & services to unwitting parents caught up in the cultural tide that is mainstream, competetive parenting in America.

So, I decided to quit that rat race…

I am now officially a sleep iconoclast. Forging my own path without shame. Throwing out (almost) all the baby sleep advice sans guilt. Giving the boot to the concept of sleep “training.” Slaying expections surrounding normal infant & child (& adult) sleep patterns. (Mostly) loving bedtime & sleep & nighttime parenting proudly.

What did I discover is wrong with most sleep training advice? Why toss it all out? It’s all about perspective—The premise is wrong & all that follows is necessarily flawed.

Almost all sleep books start from the adult perspective. This perspective defines normal sleep as sleep that primarily takes place at night for blocks of 7-9 hours. From this perspective, sleep is also something that is self-initiated & occurs in large, uninterrupted chunks of time. Our modern days & lives are built around the construct of this big nighttime, 8-hour sleep.

Not to mention that the American cultural obsession with “independence” is also an adult concept that is overrated & often unfairly imposed on infants & children.

All of this must be quite different from the infant’s perspective. An infant (fresh from the womb & new to the concept of day & night) wants to sleep when he’s tired, whenever that happens to be. He wants to be close to his favorite person in the world (that’s you). He wants milk before falling asleep (or after… or both). He definitely wants milk while falling asleep. He prefers to sleep in short snippets of time, just like he did in the warm comfort of your belly.

Now, your response might be (understandably) that you have to function in a world that is designed around ingrained, typical adult sleep patterns. So, you have to train your baby or child to adapt to the typical pattern, too. This seems logical. (And as an attorney with a day job, I get it.)

But babies are anything but logical. They’re instinctual & biologically driven. Unfortunately for us adults, this means that their sleep patterns are incredibly inconvenient & difficult to change. So difficult, in fact, that trying to convince a baby to sleep at a time or in a manner different from what her little body is telling her is usually a frustrating endeavor for both parent & child. Sometimes (usually?) it’s simply futile.

Most sleep advice tacitly recognizes that infant sleep is fundamentally different from adult sleep by admitting that babies need a lot more sleep than adults need. They need naps. They need a larger total amount of hours at night dedicated to sleep.

Beyond the newborn days, though (when we’re admonished to “nap when baby naps”), sleep training advice is mostly adult-focused, often urging parents to impose a schedule & stick to it. Sure, that’s convenient, but it’s not always what the child needs. We should recognize that we, as adults, are the ones who primarily benefit from a predictable schedule not our children.

While the adult world keeps barreling along according to inflexible & often inscrutable schedules, from an infant’s perspective, sleep might be boring, scary, hard, intrusive, uncomfortable, lonely, unnecessary, etc. Or it might be easy & best done in solitude. You just don’t know until you know. And to know, you have to watch, listen, observe.

But even if your child is a “good” sleeper, there’s bound to be something inconvenient about it, whether it’s an early bedtime (as in, right after you get home from work) or a second (or third) nap in the afternoon (you know, when you have to pick up your older child from school…). So, what to do?

What’s wrong with relying on “experts” to help you fix these & other “problems” with your child’s sleep? Not only do the so-called “experts” almost always start from the wrong perspective, as explained above, they are most certainly not expert in your child’s sleep signals & patterns & needs. For example, your pediatrician is likely not a good source of advice on infant sleep because she’s not with your baby at bedtime or nap time. A book author, even if he has “Dr.” in front of his name, has never even met your baby! And sleep needs are nothing if not unique to the individual child.

If you must consult an expert, at least make sure it’s someone who understands & respects infants as having unique needs in the sleep department. Personally, I loved Elizabeth Pantley’s book, The No-Cry Sleep Solution for Newborns: Amazing Sleep From Day One—For Baby and You. This gem is one of the only books out there that focuses on the right things: namely, normal infant sleep patterns & learning your baby’s language. (Also safe sleep, which is a must.) Pantley clearly understands & respects the needs of infants.

Also, Sarah Ockwell-Smith has a wealth of solid information regarding normal infant sleep on her website (& presumably, her book on sleep, too, though that’s not available in the good ol’ USA).

But even the best writers on infant sleep will only get you so far. Ultimately, it’s going to be up to you to find your path. I’ll share deets on what my path has looked like in part two in this two-part series.

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Back to school blues

Day one; grade unknown.

I have a confession to make: I have not dropped off my son on his first day back to school for going on at least four years. I didn’t even do it when I was on maternity leave last year. 

This fact is another on my list of reasons I’m glad I’m not active on Facebook or Instagram. Because I know what it looked like a week or so ago: moms (almost always it’s moms, not dads) posting pictures of their well-dressed children, smiling & holding hand-drawn signs announcing the year their child is entering this year. 

It’s not that these photos make me feel guilty per se, it’s just that they announce, to me, a gulf in mom-ness that I will never bridge. 

Social media has entrenched a part of mom culture that I just have never connected with. It’s the sentimentality of firsts. The over sharing of our children’s images. 

This particular first (the first day of school) also has deep ties to commercialism & consumerism, which makes me run away screaming in a knee-jerk reaction. 

Don’t get me wrong, we do privately document the first day of the new school year. I’m indoctrinated at least that much. 

But also, the transition back to school is a big deal to our kid. Starting a new academic year. Getting back to his friends & not-so-much friends. His work & the structure & the routine. 

It’s such a big deal that it creates a lot of emotional upheaval at our house. 

And for that reason, I think, my son is usually not a willing participant in my attempts to capture the moment with a photo. I usually have to coax him to smile (while complaining that I’m going to be late for work). 

Our #nofilter back-to-school photo this year features my son frowning, dressed in his first-day best (picked by him after I gently explained the problem, generally, with pairing stripes & plaid…) set against a clear blue sky. I got him to smile only after reminding him how much his baby sister adores him. 

I should have foreseen this. The night before presented unexpected challenges for me as a parent. My big kid needed help. I fumbled & grasped for the right things to say, but felt like a complete failure. I could tell we weren’t connecting. 

Big kids have big problems. Some days, I have big hugs, but not big (or the right) words. Our kids of every age deserve & need our parental love, but figuring out how to deliver that love is not always self-explanatory. 

The truth is, my eight-year-old is changing so much that I am scrambling to keep up. Figuring out how he needs me is like chasing a moving target. But it’s not for a lack of trying. No. And I’ll keep trying. He needs me now more than ever. 

Whoever tells you this parenting gig gets easier as they get older is (pretty much) lying. Sure, I may not be hovering over his every move anymore, but it’s not “easier” to be his parent. 

The issues these days seem to be deeper. Which makes them more challenging in many ways. And the solutions to these deep problems require effort & planning. 

But I’m also still trying to convince him that a hug can help lessen the hurt. 

Because sometimes the right words & the solutions will take time. Hugs can help now. My partner helped me realize that. When I’m hurting, he always offers a hug, because in the absence of the right words, human contact with someone you love & trust is as close as we can get to making things better. But it’s hard to accept, even when we’re lucky enough to have someone like that available & willing to try to help ease our pain. 

Trying to convince an older child that your arms can still bring comfort, at a time when they’re starting to peel away from you as the central figures in their lives, is a tricky endeavor. I’m still trying both tactics: hugs and the right words. If I try hard enough, I have to get one right at least. Right?!

In the end, I think it’s also for this reason that I don’t participate publicly in the back-to-school frenzy (be it shopping or posting pictures on social media): My son does not need me to be an active participant in this annual upheaval. He needs me to be a stoic by-stander, ready to give him a hand as necessary. 

And so, I find this fall is the perfect time for me to reflect on how I can be a better, more gentle parent this academic year. 

P.S. We did succeed in finding the right words of support the day after the first day of school. Or, I should say, my partner plucked the right metaphor out of the air. T ended up really connecting with the image of his emotions being like a volcano, with the pressure building until they burst forth. It helped him understand that sometimes we have little control over these moments but that releasing the pressure will eventually help us to feel better. And he did feel a lot better & is now quickly readjusting to the new routine. 

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What to do when you drop the f-bomb…

at your kid & in front of friends?

First: Admit to yourself that you’re an idiot. 

Second: Apologize to your child (who may have gone off to hide) & then apologize to any witnesses (who are probably a bit bewildered & embarrassed for you). You may not get the order right, but eventually do the right thing. Maybe after taking a few moments to yourself. Your apology should probably include an explanation that your child did nothing wrong & your unleashing of foul language was about your own issues (which I guarantee will be a true statement).

Third: Wallow in shame & guilty feelings for the next few days. Maybe apologize again (very briefly so as to not recreate the whole episode for your child & anyone else involved). 

Fourth: Realize that for some perfectly normal reason, your inner rage monster has awoken. Immediately address any emotional trigger or stressor that may be poking the monster. Recognize that your reaction as not acceptable, no matter how much stress or emotional drama you may be experiencing. Take appropriate action (be it deep breathing, yoga, meditation, prayer, excercise, chocolate, spending time in nature, a new to-do list, watching stand-up comedy, etc., etc.)

Fifth: Write about it on the Internet. In the third person so as to not reveal that you are the type of parent who would ever fall so low. (This step is entirely optional.)

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A gift of a different kind

I did finally make it out the door, laden, as usual with pumping equipment & snacks.

The morning started promisingly. I woke up just before my alarm & successfully snuck out of bed without waking the baby. 

For a second, as I descended the stairs to the kitchen, I thought to myself, “How great! I’ll get ready in no time, nurse the baby upon her waking, & be out the door early!” 

But it’s not every morning that I wake without the baby. 

My actual instinct upon entering the quiet kitchen was to tidy up. It’s the kind of productivity that’s impossible with a one-year-old on your hip or under foot. For example: an open dishwasher that invites climbing rather than emptying dishes. 

So I did what any sane working parent would do. Rather than get ready for work, I put away the clean dishes. 

Having accomplished that task & still no sign of small humans being awake, I made myself a well-deserved pot of coffee. I sat down with my steaming mug of coffee and a magazine. And I savored it all. The quiet, especially. (Incidentally, I read the new Harper’s & Seyward Darby’s new article, “The Rise of the Valkyries“, which is terrifying for any woman who has read Margaret Atwood’s The Handmaid’s Tale.)

A morning like this is a gift, and a rare one at that. 

Eventually, I gathered my things & actually started to prepare to leave for the day. Of course, at that point the baby was awake & on my lap as I tried to nurse, read M’s favorite book, and guzzle the last of my coffee. Oh, and catch up with my partner, who woke up with the baby. 

Our first attempt at nursing (& by first attempt, I mean the first conscious nursing, since we have an open milk bar all night long…) was distracted & so as I was saying my goodbyes, M unsurprisingly gave me the sign for mama milk. … Okay… Hike up my dress, adjust my non-nursing bra & we nurse. Quietly. Staring at each other in the sun-lit room. 

Then my work phone dings & buzzes. A reminder that the early birds in my office have started their work days already & a reality check that this mostly-blissful morning cannot last. Baby M wriggles in my lap, signaling she’s done nursing. I holler at my partner & I’m out the door. 

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Sarcasm in trouble 

Ancient rock for breakfast

I am snarky. IRL. On this blog. I’m irreverent & my sense of humor tends sharply toward sarcasm. 

Pro tip: kids do not get sarcasm. 

Even big kids. Like my 8 year old.

Kids (big & small) are busy making sense of this world every moment of every day. Their brains are categorizing, compartmentalizing, absorbing. It’s all so darn real & immediate. 

So sarcasm is usually lost on them. 

Except it’s not. 

Turns out my son has been observing my sarcasm quietly & taking me at my word. And I need to stop! I’ve known I need to stop forever

One recent morning, I was joking (or so I thought) with my partner, MFA Dad. I threatened to burn his toast in jest. I forgot the exchange all together, but my son did not. 

As we sat down to eat (MFA Dad’s toast perfectly done… or burned entirely by accident… I can’t remember which…) T asked me (all sincerity & seriousness) why people just can’t get along. 

Me: Huh?

T recalled for me my very recent threat to ruin his father’s breakfast. 

Me: Oh. 

So, because of my sarcasm, I’ve basically ruined my son’s sense of loving partnership & human relationships. Probably forever

I explained (& apologized for) my weird sense of humor. I tried to rehabilitate my foibles … 

Truth is, he’s 8 & he’s basically an anthropologist. He is observing human interactions. Testing the limits of love & acceptance. (He also tests this by being a complete jerk & seeking love at the same time… That’s a whole other topic…)

This morning, bleary-eyed with lack of sleep & caffeine, I almost let my snark slip as I made coffee. I caught myself. Instead, I thanked MFA Dad for helping me get ready for work. 

They both deserve more sincerity from me. Not that I’m not sincere. I have my sarcastic moments & I get more sarcastic the more I feel overwhelmed or stressed. It’s definitely a crutch. But I’m also a smother-you-with-love type of parent. Still, in the hustle & bustle of work & parenthood, I realize it is my partner who needs more random kind words. More thanks. 

I can thank T for forcing me to be more present with him & my partner.

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