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Bortski to Mama, “You’re Fired”

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There’s a new “Donald Trump” in town, and his name is The Bortski. Last night, at 5 in the morning, he ordered me out of his room. It was the toddler equivalent of “You’re Fired.” The Bortski was crying hysterically, awake for the second time during the night, and the only one he wanted was Da-Da. Da-Da had already taken the 12:30 to 2:00 am awake shift. He tried to do the 5 am one as well. Gave up. Sent me in. And when I got there The Bortski continued to cry for Da-Da. I tried every trick under the sun. Snuggling. Lullabyes. Even books. The screaming for Da-Da continued.
Now let’s put this in context. The Bortski had been sleeping through the night for months, but once The Titty Bear arrived everything fell apart. I also blame the sleep problems on daylight savings time. That, and the fact that he tried to climb out of his crib so we moved him to a bed. So now, he’s no longer caged in a crib that he can’t get out of. Instead, he gets out of bed and hangs off a gate we installed to keep him in his room.
Back to the story. I’ve been up already twice to breastfeed The Titty Bear. Nevertheless, I decide to give it a go with The Bortski, and he literally refuses my help, screaming instead for Da-da. So thankfully Da-da arrives to lend a hand again. Once he does, The Bortski changes his cry to “Ma-Ma bye-bye. Ma-Ma bye-bye.” He sees me almost start to cry. Insulted, I’m tempted to leave the room. But I hold my ground. Da-da and I present a united front. (Isn’t that what the parenting manuals tell you to do?). “No, Mama’s not leaving.” So the Bortski changes his plea again. “Mama door. Mama door.”
Oh the pain. The hurt. Is this what I get for spending so many hours breastfeeding The Titty Bear, and sending The Bortski to the playground with a babysitter? Some how I think not. I’d like to believe, instead, that the preference for Da-da reflects the excellent job Da-da does.
I can’t quite recall how this all resolved itself. I vaguely remember exchanging hugs and kisses with The Bortski, stumbling back to bed, and breastfeeding again. And so another day began.
Hopefully tonight I’ll hear, “You’re hired.” Better yet, maybe there won’t be an opening for an overnight shift. Maybe The Bortski will decide he doesn’t need the additional personnel.

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