Tonight Monkey got sent to bed at 7 p.m. (her usual bedtime is 8:30, or 8 p.m. if she doesn’t actually nap during nap time). I don’t know if it is me: very reluctant SAHM with patience issues; I don’t know if it’s her: “hello, I’m two and a half. can I push this? can I push it further? what about this far?” I don’t know what it is.
Every button she could push tonight she pushed. “Monkey, please don’t jump around the baby. You may fall on her.” Two seconds later, “Monkey. Please, please don’t jump here. Bun’s head is right here.” Another two seconds. “Monkey, please, just go jump over there if you must jump.”
Ten minutes later, it was something else. “Please don’t climb on me while I’m changing Bun’s diaper.” “Please don’t throw your toys.” “Please move back from the television.” It was like Monkey was programmed to need things said to her at least three times, with rising levels of volume and impatient tone. DVDs didn’t work (Bun, on the other hand, was entranced); bribes for treats didn’t work… okay, they didn’t work twice (and the treat in question was grapes); time out didn’t work (question: If the child in time out needs to be held there — literally held down — is time out even worth it?); being told she was going straight to bed didn’t work; putting her in her room alone for a little time alone didn’t work. I don’t spank, but, man, I was close tonight. Would spanking have worked?
Anyway, that is not the battle of which I speak. Technically speaking, I won the “battle of wills”. Monkey got put in her room, no before-bed DVD, no milk and cookies, no books. She ranted for about 15 minutes, and then (due to another day of no napping) passed out. Maybe that’s the problem: she really needs to nap, and she doesn’t, and after three or four days of not napping, this is what we come to.
No, the battle is this: every day, I want a cigarette. I want to smoke a cigarette. I lust for a pack of American Spirits. I would accept a Camel Light; I will even smoke a Malboro Light if it’s offered. I want to smoke.
I have not yet bought a pack of cigarettes. I have had a few smokes since Bun was born, although none at this house (and none IN this house; that will NOT happen). Usually at a party or something. I think I have had… oh, let’s say 10. Ten cigarettes in the past three months. This after not smoking for, obviously, more than a year.
It’s been this way after each of my children. Well, Gabriel is a bad example here. But I smoked again after Monkey, and quit again when I found out I was pregnant with Bun. Do I smoke a lot? No, a puff here and there. One night I might have two cigarettes, and a week later one, and then two days after that four. And during the winter/cold months, I barely smoke, because I won’t go outside to have a cigarette and I won’t smoke in the house.
But the fact remains that I am a smoker. And I don’t want to be. And I don’t feel like fighting this battle on top of all the other battles I am fighting in my life. The money battle (barely winning); the house-is-a-mess battle (losing); the keep-my-shit-together-until-DearDR-gets-his-license battle (winning ugly); the battle of wills with Monkey battles (winning, but at what cost?); the “I want to be working” battle (I don’t even know with whom I am fighting this battle).
Each day I get closer to losing this battle. One of these days, I am going to be out of this house without my children and I am going to buy a pack of cigarettes (that’s another stipulation: I can’t buy cigarettes in front of my kids). And that night, I am going to sit on my front stoop with a beer or a glass of wine, and I am going to smoke.
Red Pen Mama 