Last night, Darth Vader (my dear husband) and I decided that we needed a new coffee maker (and I kind of agree, since I am a coffee-hoolic). So, while G was in a good mood, we left him in his big sister's capable hands. Before we left, I showed E how to hold G when he was crying and I reminded her that sometimes, a baby cries because... a baby cries... and not to let it distress her.
So I left, confident that things would be fine.
Oh my, was I wrong. We left E with G for a total of 1:30 and when we opened the door, E quickly dropped G in my arms and started to cry. To sob, actually. I felt horrible when she started to tell me that he cried non-stop and that she tried everything to calm him down. Diaper change, tried to feed him, to rock him, to bounce him... nothing worked.
I think that she felt as if it was her fault if he was like that. Or that she felt guilty that she wasn't able to make him stop crying.
But the truth is that G was having a bad day. The kind of bad day that makes you re-consider motherhood.
And as tired as I am right now, I can say that there is a little part of me that is glad that G was having a bad day yesterday, because E saw that even me, the Mother, couldn't get him to stop or to sleep.
Yeah, I am a strange mom. Not because I found comfort in my baby's cries, but because E was able to see her baby brother cry from 5:30pm up until...1:43am (yes, I noted the time) and there is nothing I did that helped him. My daughter learned an important lesson yesterday. Baby cries because baby cries.
That's it. That's all.
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