Relinquishing.

As I write this, my husband is putting our toddler down for a nap.

She is shrieking so loudly that a casual observer might think she is being drawn and quartered, but no, this is just the reality of naptime around our house lately. What more than likely has happened is that he has put her in the crib and asked her to lie down, which as you may know is a GRAVE. INJUSTICE. when you are 18 months old.

This is pretty much business as usual around our house, but it just struck me that there is something new and unusual about the situation: the way I'm reacting to it.

I'm kind of... not.

I'm not feeling the need to run up the stairs and make sure she's not bleeding. I'm not biting my fingernails on my right hand and hugging myself around the middle with the left. I'm not wondering what the heck is going on up there.

And I find that fact pretty darn amazing.

I mentioned in a previous post that when my older daughter was this age, I was a single mother. We had family who watched her while I worked, and then when she was about two she began going to day care. So while I had the "village," I cannot tell you how immensely responsible I felt for her well-being, how stressed out I was by the immensity of that responsibility, and how scared I was of screwing it up.

This time, with Ev, it's been totally different - obviously her dad and I are happily married.  Still, for almost the first year, I felt ultimately responsible for her care. My husband worked long days and had a considerable commute, so he was gone 11 hours a day. I did daycare drop-offs and pick-ups. I woke up with her 5-6 times a night, and only I knew the tricks for getting her back to sleep. When we pulled her out of daycare because of grave health concerns, I somehow magically balanced being full-time Mama and business lady for a few months - something which was ultimately untenable. During that time I handled the bath routine and feeding routine; I knew where the loveys were hiding and which diaper cream to use when her bum got red, and I wore her in a mei tai on conference calls.

Then my husband left his job and started staying home with her in addition to doing some freelance work. I still work from home full-time, which means I'm never completely out of the picture, but the reality is, now he does most of the diaper-changing, the potty-training, the sleep management, and the Daniel-Tiger-watching. (He has been doing this since May, and it's been an interesting transition for our family on a lot of levels. I keep telling him he needs a blog so he chronicle this time in all our lives from his smart and witty perspective, but he hasn't bitten on that yet.)

I have to admit it has been very hard for me to relinquish that control and those markers of Mama-identity. I still wanted to be the keeper of the routines, the ultimate decision-maker. So for several months my husband has walked a tightrope, as he has tried to find that right balance between taking enough off my plate to relieve stress without taking so much off that my delicate Mama sensibilities were insulted. All this while readjusting his identity to the new reality of at-home parenting, and getting to know the kid he had previously only hung out with on evenings and weekends.

Sometimes you look up from all your struggles and hard work and realize you have attained a new level, reached a new reality. That's what just happened a few minutes ago. My husband has been handling naps and bedtimes almost exclusively for several weeks now, and I just looked up to notice that I am letting him handle them. I am trusting him to know how to comfort her. I don't question that she is loved and safe and happy, and he is doing the best for her in that moment. I am not second-guessing.

And you know what?

I don't even feel that guilty!

I used to be so CONSUMED with Mama-guilt when she was with someone else (even her own father), as if I had to be superhuman and somehow be everywhere at once.

But I don't have to be. I can't be! And he is capable and loving and amazing with her. And she and I still have an amazing bond.  I am still Mama... he didn't steal that title from me after all.

I had to chuckle the other night when I was putting her to bed to give him a break, and I had to come downstairs and ask, "So what are you doing when she asks for her cup-cup when she's supposed to be going to sleep? Are you giving it to her, or is there a cut-off...?" It struck me then: who is the keeper of the routines now?

Often, it's him. And I can relinquish that. I can place part of my burden in someone else's strong arms. And that is a fantastic feeling.