My youngest kiddo, Jude (aka Juder, JujuBe, Baby Jude or Scrud), is going through the most heinous case of separation anxiety I’ve ever seen. And the object of his very intense affection, would be your’s truly.
Don’t get me wrong, it’s nice to know that I’m so completely adored. I’d just like to pee by myself occasionally. Or, shower without him pounding on the bathroom door, while shrieking “momma” over and over, as I race to lather and rinse. There’s no time to repeat. Shave my legs? No time.
My poor husband takes a fair amount of abuse at the hands of our little tyrant. Nothing says “I love you, daddy” quite like your precious son screaming and attempting to backflip out of your arms as he tries to reach his beloved momma.
You’d think after raising five children prior to him, that I’d be an expert in child psychology and have some magical “cure” for his mommy issues. Yeah, right. You want to know how I’ve dealt with this in the past? I suffered. I waited. I let each of my little
monsters blessings work through their anxiety in their own time.
Martyr you say? Maybe. It’s a tough job, but someone has to do it.