A Hard Day's Night

My daughter is exactly two and a half years old today. It took 912 days, but it finally happened. I finally did the one thing I said I’d never do as a parent. Granted, there were a lot of things I said I’d never do, but this was the one that after having actually become a parent, I thought I had a real shot of standing my ground on.

Thumper slept in my bed last night.

It’s not my fault. Really. Well, if by ‘my fault’ you mean that I’m the one who said “Why don’t you come sleep in mommy and daddy’s bed?” then yes it’s my fault but I surely can’t be blamed for how fitful my sickly daughter’s sleep was or the fact that she just wanted some cuddles.

It’s not that I care if other people co-sleep with their kids. It’s just that I could never do that on a consistent basis for the following reasons: I love my own sleep too much, I don’t sleep well with Thumper in the same bed, and I am the kind of woman who simply may hurt everyone in sight cannot function if I don’t sleep right. And I was always afraid that if I broke down once or twice, it would be too hard to make Thumper understand that sleeping in our bed was the exception, not the rule.

Even as a tiny baby, we never really let Thumper sleep with us. Sometimes I’d bring her in our bed for a little while in the early mornings, but mostly just because I was trying to squeeze in another hour or two of sleep. Which was kind of stupid because between worrying that I was going to crush her, wanting my own space, and waking up every time she breathed, I tended to not get much sleep out of it.

So why did I invite my daughter to sleep with me last night? I’m not sure. I couldn’t quite believe it when the words came out. I just know that after having checked on her a few times and seeing the discomfort on her face even while she was still asleep, I thought she could benefit from some cuddles.

Luckily, the cuddles she craved were from her daddy so I sort of managed to get some sleep. Unlucky for him, Dawson spent most of the night sleeping on the edge of our king-sized bed. Unlucky for me, Thumper woke up at 6 a.m. when Dawson got up to shower and wouldn’t go back to sleep.

Have I created a monster? Probably. Am I going to suffer the consequences of my actions when trying to put her to bed tonight? Maybe. Will I break down again? I have no clue. Hopefully I’ll remember the early morning wakeup call and leave Thumper in her own bed.

-Alice

Dear Celebrity: Snooki Edition

Dear Snooki:

This letter is based on the assumption that the recent rumours that you’re pregnant are true.

Look, you are currently the butt of everyone’s jokes, but I have made a conscious choice not to do that to you. Not because you’ll ever know if I do or don’t, but because I remember a time not too long ago when I was in your shoes. I was once the girl who partied like it was her job, although I guess for you it actually is a job. I had my share of dancing on tables and drunkenly running off my mouth for no other reason than because I could and I had nothing to lose. The only difference between us is that your life is filmed on camera and mine wasn’t. Although, it’s true that if someone had offered me a reality show, I would have taken it. I legitimately contemplated signing up for Real World after a particularly crummy break up. I was also once the girl who, at twenty-three, was unmarried but very suddenly and so very unexpectedly needed four pregnancy tests to make me believe that I was pregnant. It was scary as fuck. From that moment on, it felt like everyone I knew was watching my every move. I became the girl that everyone expected to fail because party girls make good gossip but they don’t make good mothers, right? Well, Snooki, the reality is that now you do have something to lose in this world. And that’s a game changer.  Most people aren’t going to give you the benefit of the doubt, but even party girls can change their ways, if they want to. So as a former hot, hot mess, let me tell you two things that nobody else will.

It’s okay to mourn the loss of the life you had. You have the right to cry, to get mad at yourself, at life, at everyone. It’s perfectly normal to be upset about the major changes that are coming your way, because there are some huge-ass changes coming your way.  You just have to remember that at the end of the day, it’s not about you anymore. It’s about the life that’s growing inside you. From now on, your decisions have to be made based on what’s best for that child. So here’s my next piece of wisdom.

Get the hell out of dodge. If you stay in the spotlight to raise this kid, you might as well start telling yourself you’re a bad mother because that’s all you’re going to hear from those around you. Hollywood is a world where people not only expect to see you fail, but they want to see you fail, and they will hang you dry for even the smallest parenting mistakes. And you know what? You’re going to make a shit-ton of mistakes because, like the rest of us, you will have no clue what you’re doing. And that’s okay, but Hollywood will make you feel like it’s not. That’s the other difference between us. Yeah, I had everyone I knew watching me, but you’ve got everyone in the whole world watching you. My mistakes don’t get plastered all over Facebook or become a Twitter trend heard ‘round the world. Yours do, and yours will. So go back to Jersey and surround yourself with family. They might give you some grief but they won’t be waiting and hoping for you to fail miserably.

I hope it goes without saying that I don’t think you should plan a reality show around your pregnancy. MTV already did that with a bunch of teenagers, and look at how well that turned out for those poor girls. Take a page out of Jaime Lynn Spears’ book - when life hands you an unexpected pregnancy, just turn the cameras off and go home. 

-Alice