The family bed

This Red Hot Momma has just celebrated the one year mark of the kid free bed. I really never intended to co sleep.  I think that is the politically correct term.  It just happened. 

Our first baby started out in the bassinet.  Soon, though I can’t remember exactly when, he ended up in the middle of our king sized bed.  We all slept better.  Until he was around two.  He was, as all little kids are, miserable to sleep with.  Despite having an adequate sized sleeping space, Mr. and Mrs. Red Hot found themselves clinging to the edges of the mattress.  Praying for the morning to hurry up and come already.

Enter baby number two.  We have a few photos of him sleeping in his bassinet.  Otherwise I would not believe it had ever happened.  He fit right in to the snug bed.  We adjusted and grumbled.  Still the will to remedy the situation was absent.  Until a year and a half later.

Enter baby number three.  Five was a number we were not willing to maneuver.  The oldest went to his own bed.  The middle went to a toddler bed.  The baby went to the bassinet.  It lasted one night.  Two tops.  Baby number two, now a toddler made his way into our bed around midnight.  Baby number one, now bigger than a few of his grandparents came in around three a.m.  After years and years of the nightly rotation into and out of our bed, Mrs. Red Hot had enough.  Everyone sleeps in his own bed.  All night. 

Having the bed to ourselves once again was amazing.  A kid free zone! We would lie in our big bed and watch Family Guy.  Eating ice cream or reading to one another.  It became my favorite time of the day.  Still is. 

Lot’s of new Red Hot Momma’s wrestle with should we or shouldn’t we put the baby in bed with us.  I have mixed feelings.  I absolutely adored my babies in bed with us.  The world just felt right.  Snuggled in bed with the man l loved.  The product (or products ) of our love lying peacefully between us.  I would not trade anything for those memories.  I also love it being just the two of us. In fact, having a time that is just “ours” has been revitalizing for our marriage.  Not to mention how much better rested I am now, compared to then. 

So looking back…Yes.  I would do it all just the same again.  But, I am so glad I don’t have to!    Good Night!

Sick Momma

I am a sick red hot momma. Been sick since Friday in fact. I have drug myself from couch to bed to kid activities and then finally the doctor’s office today.  But that is not where this post is going…

This morning while taking the puppy outside for a potty break, I began to really feel sorry for myself.  My illness combined with the cold outdoor air and the fact that our dog that is a diva who refuses to poop in wet grass came crushing down on me. (Mrs. Red Hot is always susceptible to a pity party when ill)  I mean, here I was…sick…outside in the cold…waiting for the dog to poop…without looking her in the eye.  Like I said, she is a diva.  Poor me!

As I stepped back into the house, the overwhelming scent of poop nearly knocked me down.  What on earth was making my house smell like a refugee camp latrine?  Three feet outside our bathroom was a pair of pajama bottoms.  Followed by a shirt.  With poop all over it.  The door leading to the repugnant smell stood half open.  I broke out in a cold sweat.  Whatever lay on the opposite side of the door would scar me forever.  I just sensed it.  After taking a slow, not so deep breath, I stepped into the bathroom.

When the human mind is faced with a reality that it finds too gruesome to process, images come into consciousness in slow motion.  Image 1- Poop covered toilet seat.  Empty.  Image 2- blue beach towel wrapped around toilet base.  Poop splattered.  Image 3- formerly white wash cloths. Now zebra striped. Image 4- preschooler.  Toilet papered.  Poop smeared. 

I gasped.  Regretting it immediately.  I stood in the middle of a what appeared to be a crime scene.  Something had gone terribly wrong in this bathroom.  I felt as though I would faint, but decided not too.  It was impossible to avoid hitting excrement.  “Son. What happened?” I said, calmly.  “Well…I really don’t know.” he explained.  “Something bad.”  I had to agree with him. 

I wanted to cry.  Scream.  Rail against the unfairness of being a mom.  A parent.  But instead I felt a peace settle over me.  A peace that could only come from above.  I looked at my son.  Covered in crap.  Standing in the middle of a huge stinking mess. Humiliated.  Desperately needing mercy. All because he tried to fix things his own way.  I’ve been there.   

As I helped him scrub off in the shower, the irony of the situation was not lost on me.  How many times has the Father scooped me up, cleansed me, and took care of the mess I had made?  Too many to count. 

I found myself feeling much less pitiful. In fact, pretty grateful.  Realizing just how much I have been forgiven and loved by the Father. Which turned out to come in handy because my three year old came crashing into the bathroom yelling “MOM!  The dog just POOPED in my room.”

Red Hot Momma’s don’t let a little crap ruin their days…but a lot of crap can certainly put a damper on it!