I trust him with her - to keep her safe, educate her, teach her right from wrong. However, I seem to butt in all the time as though I don't have this trust in him.
I mentioned the week between Christmas and New Year's that I would like to put up the gate at the top of the stairs, secure her bedroom furniture and make her crib into a bed. Life happened, and it never was accomplished. And then a couple weeks later I go on a cleaning spree the day before her birthday party, whip out an Allen wrench and take care of her bed.
He got angry.
She was trashing her room, letting herself out the door, not napping. He had to deal with the repercussions while I was at work. He feels I did it without discussing it with him. I fought back, saying we agreed to do it, but just earlier. He says we didn't discuss doing it that day, and it wasn't fair. He's right. I asked how we could solve it - put the crib back together? Get a full-length bedrail? Put a lock of some sort on her door? How can I fix it? He said, "Just don't do things like this without discussing it with me." There's nothing I can do now, but I need to learn from this and not do it again.
During this argument about her bed, things got heated. He was in the shower while I stood in the doorway, my voice raising. A curtain between us, so we couldn't read each other's expressions. I said he won't let go of his little baby, she's three years old and it's time to get out of the crib and get out of the diapers. He was silent for a long while, and finally said, "Whatever you say dear."
When he calls me "dear" it pretty much means "bitch." And he's pretty much right.
I do a lot of homework as a working parent. On lunch breaks and during boring conference calls I lurk on forums and mommy blogs seeing if we're doing "the right thing" with Emerson. This is my way of being involved in her upbringing. I worry that we're doing something that will cause her decades of therapy once an adult, and research the cheapest, healthiest, smartest, and simplest way to accomplish the most appropriate things for her. I then come home and try to discuss them with my husband.
He usually murmurs something positive and goes back to his book/TV show/bottle of beer. A week later a box may arrive with a new gadget, garment, or toy and he seems surprised. Other times, it's like the crib.
My husband has never read a baby book, never seen a baby blog, and doesn't know what a forum even is. He'll chat with fellow parents at the playground, but otherwise he's raising Emerson on instinct.
As a working mom, I can't raise on instinct. I don't know my child's habits, all her reactions, her thoughts. I rely on strangers - fellow parents on the Internet, reviews on Amazon, celebrity doctors who publish bestselling books. I feel it must be right since it's so popular.
But what is so wrong with instinct? Some of the most famous and inspiring people were raised by parents who used instinct. Parents who didn't have libraries of books with child-rearing advice, no computer full of Bumpies, and no blogs. Parents who got to know their children, and used that with their own personal opinions and priorities and reared perfectly good children.
When Emerson is 18, no one will care if she was potty trained at 32 months, or 42 months. No one will ask how long she slept in a crib. It won't matter if she played with real Play Doh or the homemade version, or any modeling clay at all. She won't remember any of this, but she will remember the great relationship she had with her father, and she will remember the relationship her parents had with one another.
I can't ever remember my parents disagreeing on how to raise me, reprimand me, educate me. Maybe there were fights in their bathroom at 6am while one showered, but I don't think so. They knew the role each one had, and the working parent knew that the at-home parent had a better idea on what was best for the child in regard to milestones. I may be the mother, but I am not the primary caregiver. My husband deserves respect for the amazing job he has done, and respect for his decisions on how to deal with developmental milestones.
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Yesterday Emerson wore her Dora underpants on a hike and didn't have an accident. She came home and asked to use the potty. Later she had a dribble, she and Daddy had a discussion about how it feels to go pee pee, they went to the potty, they both grew from the experience. She then asked to put on a diaper again, but later that evening with a changing again wanted to go to underpants. I shouldn't have said a thing, he's doing just fine running on instinct.
