I can’t even share my bed with boyfriends…

I’ve been reading this article this morning about how parents are lacking in creating appropriate bedtime boundaries for their children, leading to parents getting kicked out their own beds and morphing the need for sexuality and intimacy into the wish for just a good night’s sleep.

What the…?


Along with this article, I reflect on last night. My Monday nights usually consist of the severe pleasure derived from Wife Swap, and then as the peals of laughter die down in the house [The family that eats raw meat trades with the urbanites, the high priestess and super Christians, faux punk rock and the Amish.], the actions of Supernanny gets me sucked in for another half hour or so. I say not another hour because I habitually murmur, “Not in my house” or “Where is the fear of God?” or “Pfft, 12, that’s lawn-mowing age” and then tune out because, sheesh, my kids naturally will be different.

I think that’s a misconception that all this might be riding on. We figure, hey, we’re going to be nice to our kids, we’ll be friends even and oh-so diplomatic – so won’t our kids be nice to us? …But isn’t this what we keep seeing on Supernanny? I wonder if at some point our generation will swap back to a more traditional raising of children, a la my friend’s rotation of, “Do not do that or I will bust your hiney. One, TWO…” by then her little boy usually scampers off.

I made the comment last night to HWSNBN that I can’t and shouldn’t really make any arguments about all of this. For me, it’s like sitting on the couch during the Super Bowl and muttering about how I would never make a pass like that – but am I in the NFL? Oh no. But since I do have an outside shot of being in the Club o’ Mom, you know genetics and such, it feels like I’m currently milling around the next couple of seasons of training camp.

That was after I told him, whilst sipping my margarita and staring into the distance, about my theory to pump out at least three kinds for an investment in future household division of labor.

P.S. As I was typing this, Sarah reminded me about how infants under a year shouldn’t eat honey. Wha…? Googling it – yes, infant botulism and honey. Wow. I’m need a Mommy boot camp once I ever do decide to have kids.

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10 Responses to I can’t even share my bed with boyfriends…

  1. Erin says:

    eh you don’t need Mommy boot camp thats why they have all those nice books to tell you what to do… you know the parents on supernanny probably read those too.

  2. thebutton says:

    I watch those shows too, quite often, actually. I call it my “what not to do as a parent show” and “ah, tips for if it does get that way.” Cuz we’re not all perfect. My first rule is, baby has it’s own room. I will not, let the baby sleep in my bed or in my room. Hubby time is important to me.

    There’s also a no citrus rule for babies too. I think they can’t have it until they are a year old too and it’s mainly due to their digestive system. If you want runny poo and a cranky baby, go for it.

    Mommy boot camp? Pshaw, that’s why you have us mommies and future mommies as friends. We can hash out the advice and scare the hell out of you when it’s your turn to be blessed. 😉

    ~Jen

  3. E says:

    All this talk of being a mommy frightens and confuses me. I am a stranger in a strange land.

  4. firewings says:

    I could make Alien references – but I won’t.

  5. E says:

    That’s even worse. Children are not for me at this point in my life, that’s for sure…

  6. eatsbugs says:

    You’re a blogger. You instantly come equipped with mommies swarming all around you. However, I now threaten to stop reading you if you start making a mommy-blog before you have children. Just saying…

    Also, TV is for losers, but I love you all the same.

  7. firewings says:

    I mentioned this in class the other day, about how I read quite a few mommy blogs. It’s nuts. I’m not sure how I fell into it, but I have. There are some great mommy bloggers though. See Blogroll.

  8. The Rebuker says:

    Seriously, you have the right idea. Kids are not friends. They’re cute and you can love them and cherish them and what not, but it is imperative you put them to work by age three. My daughter is already mopping the floor (not very well, but it’s a start) and dusting all the wood in the house. To heck with all that martyr-mommy crap. Work makes you free (when you’re 18)!
    On a wierd side note, the last time I had my daughter mop the floor she asked for a rag and a mop so she could clean the floor like Cinderella. What do you say to that?

  9. The Rebuker says:

    Excuse me, “a rag and a bucket”

  10. krista says:

    Hmmm, am I a mommy blogger?

    Funny.

    I went through this phase where I was really embarrassed by some of Aidan’s behaviours. I would introduce him to someone and he would instantly transform into a cat, or a cheetah or something equally bizarre, and start licking his hand or something.

    I used to get all bent out of shape about it.

    I don’t personalize his behaviour anymore. He is his own person, and he will act in his own bizarre ways, and I don’t let it bother me, or worry about how it reflects on me as a parent anymore.

    I just do my very best raising him and if he acts in undesirable ways, I tell remind myself he is his own person and not an extension of me.

    PS- My kids kick me out of my bed everymorining. Little dudes snuggle right up into me and the husband, climb all over us, and we are forced to get up and out.

    At nighttime though, that bed is MINE!

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