Mommy Test

I know it's cliche, but I'm just now realizing that Graeme is testing me. My mother observed this when she was here putting our lives back together last week. (Side note: Last week was the first week since the beginning of March when we didn't go to the pediatrician. And where was I this morning? At the pediatrician. I seriously may be crazy. Perhaps I would have gone to the pediatrician last week were it not for my mother reassuring me that we could manage my child's health issues in-house. Anyway, I digress. My sanity, or lack thereof, is a running theme in this blog.)

I probably knew on some level that Graeme was testing me, but it was driving me crazy. Haven't I passed enough f----g tests to be a parent? I had my FSH, LH, estrogen and all sorts of other hormones measured and tested billions of times while trying to get pregnant. I charted and cycled and clocked and timed and did all sorts of other humiliating things while trying to get pregnant. I read every book I could on recurrent miscarriages, optimal nutrition, exercise and stress reduction, and more while trying to get pregnant. And now I'm a parent. I PASSED the test. What does this child think by TESTING me? I've had enough tests to qualify me to write the SAT, LSAT, and MCAT in three languages. But, it seems as though that wasn't enough. Or, maybe it was just the beginning of the REAL test. The one that really matters. Who cares what my hormone levels are and whether or not my cycle is 28 or 35 days or whether I have ripe follicles or old ovaries. None of that really matters when it comes to parenting. Now that I realize that the real test is right now in front of me I'm actually enjoying it a bit more. The years of infertility were just an irritating warm-up (irritating being the operative world....but since this post isn't about my anger at infertility I'll try to stay on topic).

Graeme is constantly testing me. I'm not sure if he's making sure I'm up for the job (and he has good reason to doubt my capacity, for sure). Or, if he's testing boundaries and stretching his own wings. Or, if he's just messing with me. But, he tests me all the time.

If I kick the walls at 6:00am will she respond? When she tells me NO does she mean it? What will happen if I keep kicking? Will she really take away the pacifier? What happens if I don't eat my dinner? How about going one step further and throwing the plate? Will she give me a bowl of cereal, a stern look, or a time-out? Do we really have to hold hands in parking lots? What exactly constitutes a parking lot? If I pull away will she carry me instead - I kind of like that. Or, do we have to forgo the library trip?

When I think about it this way, Graeme is just trying to figure out how the world operates and I'm the teacher. Only instead of administering the tests I'm taking them. And, I'm probably a confusing teacher (I sort of knew that from my days of teaching Econ 101). Some days throwing food results in a time-out and other days I deliver a tired look. Holding hands in parking lots is a constant, but sometimes "hands" means "grab the handle on my bag because my two hands are occupied with Ian, school bags, pump, work material, and coffee."

It's all very confusing...to the teacher and the student. So, while I really hope I pass this is probably good training for how the real world does in fact operate...confusing.