Its amazing how having a child dictates your every thought, your every action. From things as little as when I am going to take a shower or what I am going to have for dinner (based on how long his nap will be and how much time I have to cook) to things as big as buying a house. I no longer control my life. Not in the slightest. Turner rules my day to day activities and decisions, he is king.
Last night after I put Turner in his crib (a sleeping sprint that lasted maybe 10 minutes), as soon as he started to cry, I tried to wait it out. Thats what the experts say I should do at least.. let him cry and learn to soothe himself. Well, Turner and I play a little game and its called, “Turner wins.” It doesn’t matter what the case is, Turner wins. So when it comes to me sleeping alone and Turner in his crib vs Turner crying to sleep with me… Turner wins.
Leaving him alone in that thing is way easier said than done. The “Turner wins” motto is how Andrew and I live our lives these days. When I am trying to make dinner, I have to feel out Turner’s mood. If he is fussy and needing attention (which nine times out of 10 is the case) I don’t plan on cooking anything that is going to require a lot of attention or supervision because I know in the quality meal vs Turner, Turner wins.
Showering is nearly impossible. I legit have to schedule my showers with Andrew. Find time in both of our schedules to work it in, because if Turner is in a room by himself, he senses it and pitches fits like you have never seen, and it breaks my heart to pieces, so one again, Turner vs. shower, Turner wins.
Andrew and I recently made an offer on a house (yaaaaaay). We must have looked at a dozen houses. During the entire process, it was never about what we wanted, it was about what would be best for Turner. So we had a check list of things, stairs, yard, play room, would it serve Turner now and as a teenager, things like that. All but one house just didn’t live up to Turner standards. Even when we were in complete LOVE with the house we made an offer on, we considered the yard size, the location to town, the area schools, which bedroom he would want, where he could play, if we can properly secure the deck, all things Turner. Its so hard to make a decision now that I know will impact him in 15 years. I want to have a home he will want to spend time at. I want to have a house that he will be proud to bring his friends to. I want a house that he can ride a bike at, that he can toss a baseball in the front yard, or learn to do flips, whatever he wants. I want Andrew and I to be able to give that to him. Finding a house that can be all of that at all different stages of his life was a tremendous accomplishment, but I think we did it. As must as I hate the idea of laundry being on a separate level, or having to carry groceries or a sleeping child from the car up stairs to get into the house, those are my standards, not Turner’s. So in the case of Turner vs. my type of house, Turner wins.
I don’t really mind it either. I like playing Turner wins. I know in the long run he is going to be rotten, but when he looks at me and smiles, or when he is crying his heart out until the very second he feels my touch, its hard, no its impossible not to give in. I have a feeling that I am in for a very very rough ride.