5:84

The most siblingesque of the ruination tactics so far:

The requirement to share EVERYTHING.

Occasionally I stop and ask myself why I'm doing whatever I'm doing. (I don't recommend this, as it usually leads to the discovery of some uncomfortable truth. I'm not sure I've benefitted from getting to know myself better... ignorance is bliss and all.)

I did it today, though. I decided to confront the fact that when Josephine is finally squared away in her room for quiet time or her nap or bedtime, I frequently dart to the kitchen and eat something... usually something involving cheese. So I analyzed it for a second-- didn't take long-- and quickly settled on the conclusion that I simply relish eating what I want to eat without being badgered to share it.

I'm sick of sharing. This morning I only got to have half my bagel, half of a piece of sausage, and half a serving of yogurt with flaxseed and blueberries. Yes, in the end I was still full, but I'd have been full after the WHOLE bagel, thank you very much. I wouldn't have had to move on to a piece of sausage, which I cut the size I wanted. And of which I only got to have half, which meant I had to find something else to eat (and then share that also). It's ANNOYING. Why can't she just eat what I give her and let me eat what I want? It's impossible, though. She wants what I have, and she wants it in the order and portion I have it. Motherhood banishes one's independence on countless levels; it's a brutal process.

In case that isn't sufficient though, go ahead and heap a load of guilt on top of the lack of independence. And here's why: I am constantly aware of my inadequacies as a healthy role model. Namely, I cannot just eat the comforting junk I want to, because she invariably wants some, so I'd end up feeding her half of my junk. If I do desperately want an extra cookie or slice of cheese, I must be prepared to give her one too, or else seem like a scrooge, and either path ends in a pit of shame. (It's one thing to ruin my own health-- quite another to jeopardize hers!)

...whiiiich is why I hide. I admit Sean has found me crouched behind our kitchen counter relishing an ice cream sandwich-- only to be treated like scum as I glared and emphatically shooed him away lest he attract Josephine's attention and ruin my blissed-out experience. Not my finest moment. BUT at least I spared her the junk food and got to have the whole thing myself, not half!

In fact, I have a repertoire of deft movements that enable the consumption of small bits of chocolate, and load of explanations (lies) about why I must have something that I cannot share with her. Part of me defends them as survival tactics, part of me feels like a selfish and terrible role model. But pretty much whichever way you slice it, they are the less-than-gracious behaviors of a woman driven to the brink of insanity.

So Jason, congratulations. Tactic #5 is effective.