Momma Knows Best

My most recent Ah-ha moment happened Sunday afternoon. The University of Kentucky Wildcats were playing in Newark, NJ in the Elite 8 game of the NCAA Tournament. My husband and I, both graduates of UK and quite separated from our team because we now live in New York City, were very excited for the opportunity to watch the Cats play. Newark is just two stops away from the heart of Manhattan via train and we couldn’t pass up the opportunity.

The thing is, we have a baby now. Jerrod hasn’t “felt comfortable” leaving our son, Knox, with anyone yet. I’ve suggested date nights, movies, Broadway shows, etc, but he just couldn’t bring himself to leave the baby because he really misses him at work and treasures spending his free moments with his family. That’s sweet, but this stay-at-home momma needs a night out every now and then.

If only I’d known sooner that I was dangling the wrong carrots! Absence makes the heart grow fonder and ever since we moved to New York, Jerrod’s passion for college basketball (UK in particular) has increased 100 fold. He watches every game on TV or live streaming on the computer, then records and posts videos of the games on YouTube, and follows the players on Twitter. He’s a fanatic and over the weekend, had his chance to see them play live.

“Let’s get a sitter,” he said when our team advanced in the tournament.

Shocked, I replied, “Deal!”

I’ve never been the hesitant one to leave the baby with a sitter because I feel like that every time I take a girls’ night or a mommy moment. Leaving the baby with my husband already feels that way. Maybe because he feeds Knox on his lap instead of in his high chair, or maybe because he never records nap or feeding times and relies on me to tell him, or maybe because he would rather throw Knox’s onesies away than rinse them out when a dirty diaper knows no bounds; but since Day 1, I’ve adopted the mantra, “Daddy’s way is different, not wrong.” I repeat it often… quite often.

Because otherwise, I would kill him.

So one of our dearest friends offered to watch Knox Sunday night. She hadn’t babysat in at least 10 years; thus, she had a small amount of anxiety. That afternoon, to help ease her of any nerves, I typed up all of the important information that I could: naptimes, bottle amounts, bedtime routine, etc. But as soon as she walked in the front door, my husband nearly assaulted her. Keyed up about the game, and his own anxiety about leaving the baby, I watched him drag her all over our one-bedroom apartment.

“Now, when I watch the baby,” he said, “I like to warm a bottle in the sink and then have another one ready just in case.” Or “When I watch the baby, I like to take a walk around the building if he gets fussy.”

I finished getting ready as this went on.

“When I watch the baby, we take a bath before bed. He likes his hair spiked up, and I did oil yesterday so use lotion tonight, and these are the easiest pj’s to put him in, and I like to use this piece of cardboard as a fan to let him get a little air down there before slapping on the diaper, you know what I mean?”

I smirked. The look on her face was priceless.

“When I watch the baby,” he continued, overwhelming our poor friend, “I bounce this blue ball and build a block tower for him to knock over. That’s key when you need a go-to mood lifter.”

I felt like popping popcorn as I watched this scene unfold.

“When I watch the baby,” he pulled her close and whispered, oblivious to the fact that I could still hear them through the baby video monitor. “I sometimes skip that third nap. Alecia says he needs it, but I think he’s growing out of it. Just watch for the sleepy signs, but if he’s happy and having a good time, don’t sweat it.”

I saw them both smiling as they stood over Knox’s crib. Was that a fist pound?

Knox needs a third nap. I’m telling you. I know this kid. Otherwise it’s all toothy smiles and giggles one minute, but total meltdown the next before you can blink an eye. I wanted to interrupt, but they were so chummy and I was pretty amazed that Jerrod was taking charge, and although I really wanted to encourage that third nap, I didn’t want to step on my husband’s toes.

“Daddy’s way is different, not wrong,” I said to myself. After all, he is Knox’s dad – he wants what’s best for his son – and my way is not always the right way. I was feeling very mature.

So I let him finish, gave our friend some emergency contact numbers, and off we went to watch the Cats make it to the Final Four.

We came home on top of the world, but our friend was completely pooped, sprawled out on the couch.

“Are you guys hungry?” she asked first thing. “Because I don’t know how you all do it. I’m exhausted. We played, we laughed, we danced. I didn’t even have time to eat!”

“Why didn’t you order something during his third nap?” I asked, taking off my coat.

“I couldn’t get him down for the last nap!” she cried. “He wanted to play! And then, he just lost it. Lost it. Totally went berserk. Crying and rubbing his eyes and, oh man, he was just so overtired! He never cries! I’m the worst.”

I started to speak, when Jerrod cut me off, “I know, dude! That third nap is killer! Alecia has no trouble, but it’s hard for us outsiders!”

‘Outsiders?’

Seriously?

And that’s when it hit me:

Even my husband thinks of himself as a babysitter.

So yeah, we parent differently. My mantra is nice and peacekeeping and loving and a way to keep me sane when they’re making a mess. And listen, most of the time, Daddy’s way is okay. But because of Sunday night, because of my Ah-ha moment, I can now affirm and be boldly confident that when in doubt, Momma knows best.