Thursday, May 4, 2017

Life lessons from Lucy

Oh, my Lucy. I love my child so fiercely, and she gives me such a run for my money.

Yesterday was one of those days. I had asked my mom to come watch Milo and Emmy so I could take Lucy to the dentist all by herself. We almost never get to do things just the two of us, and I thought she would be so excited.

Well, when she woke up, she thought her daddy was taking her to the dentist because he had taken Milo the week before. Cue meltdown number one.

Then Nana arrived at our house to babysit, and Lucy realized that Nana wasn't taking her to the dentist - stinking old Mommy was (even though we had already discussed what was going to happen). Cue meltdown number two.

I took her to the dentist, got her a Sonic drink as a reward for a good appointment, and we got home. She was naughty all stinking day long. Cue meltdowns three, four, five, six... You get the picture. I was so fed up that by the time she pulled down the bunk bed ladder (that was screwed in, mind you), I couldn't even spank her for fear of a genuine mommy meltdown. So I parked her in a chair and there she sat until I could be rational (it took a long time and a lot of Doritos, so there went the Jillian Michaels workout I had sweat through earlier).

Oh, sweet Lucy. What does a mommy do?

Well, I just took a deep breath and kept right on trucking. Trucking through a power outage and no car to leave the house. Trucking through dinner in the car when Nate got home. Trucking through bedtime where she just wanted Nate to lay her down.

And then Nate reported to me what happened at prayer time. He asked her to be thinking of how much she loves Mommy and tell Yahweh three things she loves about me. "Yahweh, thank you for Mommy. She is soooooo beautiful. She is always nice. And she is even beautiful in the morning when her breath is stinky."

So, there you go. This child sees me at my crankiest, at my no-makeup-iest. At my very most basic in sweatpants and a spit-up covered shirt. And she still thinks I'm beautiful and nice all the time (even when my breath is stinky). I have to be doing at least a tiny something right, and I'm so glad that I breathe and hold my tongue when I want to be angry and tell her all about it. Life lessons from Lucy, right? Thank you, Father, for giving me this beautiful, lovable, amazing little challenge.

Side note: Lucy was singing a song about me the other day while she played the piano. She got to this part - "Mommy is so funny," looked at me out of the corner of her eye, and changed it to, "A little funny." I guess you can't win them all, right?

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