The Right to Complain

I've been hyper-sensitive lately to people's complaints about life's daily injustices. Especially those involving pregnancy or newborns. You see, when I hear (or read on Facebook, as the case may be) a new mom complain about yet another sleepless night, it makes me want to scream. Or when a pregnant woman complains about ill-fitting clothes or swollen ankles. My immediate reaction (in my head) is to ask, "Do you want to trade places?" Because I'd pretty much give anything right now for a sleepless night with a perfectly healthy newborn. And I'd gladly suffer the nausea and discomfort of a healthy pregnancy. So seriously, do you want to trade places?

At 33 years old, I finally can accept the fact that bitching and moaning is all relative. One person's pain is another's pleasure. I'm sure that my complaints about Daniel's disappearing naps are pissing someone off. That person must think I'm whiny and ungrateful. Who am I to complain about the phenomenally amazing child I've been blessed with? Should I, in turn, feel guilty that I complain about something so insignificant in the grand scheme of things?

I'm going to say no to the guilt, simply because I believe that I have the right to complain about whatever is affecting MY life. Just as the new mom has the right to complain about her perfectly healthy newborn keeping her up all night. It may piss me off to hear it, but I certainly can't expect everyone to be sensitive to my needs at all times. It's like the beautiful, thin girl who complains all the time about being fat. You may want to punch her in the face, but that doesn't mean her feelings are invalid.

If I am eventually blessed with another baby, either through IVF or adoption, I'm sure there will come a time when I will be at my wits end and will complain about one of the many inconveniences or hardships of parenthood. Maybe I'll be so overwhelmed with gratitude that I'll let every little annoyance slip off my shoulders. But if you know me at all, that probably is an unrealistic expectation. The more likely scenario is that I'll whine about being exhausted, moan and groan about whatever insane phase the child is going through, and generally act like any normal human being would in similar circumstances. If I happen to piss you off someday with my ungrateful complaining, I apologize. But after having to endure almost two years of hearing the constant bitching and moaning from others about how hard it is to be a new mom, I think I've earned a little selfishness. And if, in a couple years time, you are going through a rough patch in your life and you hear me complaining about potty training or naps or anything else that I should be so blessed to deal with, feel free to slap me in the face and ask, "Do you want to trade places?"

More Than Just a Crib

Daniel has slept in the crib pictured above since he was about 6 months old and we moved him out of the Pack-n-Play in our bedroom. He never really outgrew it, never tried to climb out, never scaled the side of it (despite the fact that he could scale pretty much every other piece of furniture in the house). So I kept him in the crib, even as his peers were transitioning into "big-kid" beds. I didn't have any good reason to rush him into a bed. No safety issues, no sleep resistance, no baby siblings on the way. Which is why I'm having such a hard time right now finding the motivation to banish the crib, once and for all.

At one month shy of 3 and a half years old, Daniel is now showing signs that he is ready for a big-boy bed. He has climbed out twice during naptime, once coming downstairs to surprise me while I was on the treadmill and once finding himself perched in his top dresser drawer, peeling off band-aids and sticking them all over his body (see above photo). He has so many toys and stuffed animals in his crib that there is barely enough room for him to sleep. Furthermore, he is not napping as consistently as he was even 3 months ago. The bottom line is that it's time to make the transition. To either convert the crib into a bed, or to purchase a regular bed with bedrails. So why am I having such an existential crisis over this seemingly benign coming-of-age ritual?

How I longed to use that crib for a new baby. To give Daniel a "big brother" bedroom as we welcomed a new bundle of joy. But November 2009 came and went with no baby. And then July 2010 came and went with no baby. Moving Daniel into a bed became less about forcing him out of his crib and more about forcing me to move on and accept the fact that the crib was not needed -- for now. Part of me wants to convert the crib into a bed for Daniel so I don't have to look at an empty crib. The thought of that empty crib hurts more than you could possibly imagine. Just as I'm saving Daniel's baby clothes and baby toys for the future child that I pray for every day, I believe in my heart that the crib has not served its full purpose. Up until now, it has simply been easier for me to maintain the status quo. But I'm beginning to realize that it might not be in Daniel's best interest. Especially in light of this week's "drawer-sitting" incident. So as I plan to start transitioning Daniel into his big-boy bed this weekend, I say a fond farewell to his baby years, shed some tears over what I've lost, and continue to hope for a happy ending.