Be Careful What You Wish For

Be careful what you wish for. It might just come true. You've heard that before, right? The phrase came to life during the heyday of 'Fantasy Island.'

NASHVILLE, TN - Remember the show? People would arrive on a tiny island, by way of a tiny plane, with very big dreams-visions of fame, fortune, true love, etc.  Happy endings were revealed in the last seven minutes of the show, but to keep America tuned in the dreamers had to go through a nightmare journey.

My dream of independence came true a couple of years ago. It was the dream of independence. Not just for myself, but for my children. I had become used to sleeping between potty breaks, water breaks, bad dreams and tumbles from beds. I had perfected the mommy sixth sense (it's got nothing to do with the Bruce Willis flick, trust me). Honestly, I was up and into my son's room before he hit the floor.

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During a trip to the store or park, I'd see families with older children and sigh.

"I can't wait until the day our kids sleep in," I confided to my husband one Saturday morning a couple of years ago. "Won't it be great when they roll out of bed at 10 a.m.? Or when they can wake up, tip-toe downstairs, pour a bowl of cereal and watch cartoons until I'm ready to wake from dreamland?"

The kids reached that point at 5, 6 and 7 - well, almost. It was rare that the boys woke up in the middle of the night. Our daughter, Samantha, was the last child to train. In the summer of 2000, she woke up at 2 or 3 a.m., softly asking to go to the bathroom. And every night I gently reminded her that she doesn't need permission to get up and go.

"You can do it all by yourself, honey. There's a night light in the bathroom. When you're all done, just go back to bed, O.K?"

"O.K. Mommy," said my sleepy 5 year-old, night after night.

It finally sunk in on a Monday. I jumped out of bed at the sound of a zipper, followed by a tinkle, a flush, another zipper and the pitter-patter of little feet hopping back into bed. My Sam had gone to the bathroom at 2:18 a.m. More importantly, she had accomplished this amazing feat without the help of her mommy. I know I should've stayed in my bed, but I couldn't resist. I tiptoed into my daughter's room to make sure she was snuggled in tight.

"Mommy?" whispered a tiny little voice.

I kissed her sweet forehead and said goodnight.

"I went to the baffroom all by myself," she said.

"I'm so proud of you, sweetie. Go to sleep now."

She did, and so did I. The next morning, though, I felt a pang of disappointment, instead of the wondrous feeling of independence I had been expecting. Sam is my baby, and slowly but surely, my baby was the one growing independent."

That's it!" I whined to my husband later that evening. "Pretty soon they'll be making their own breakfasts, packing their own lunches, riding off in the afternoon to see their friends, doing their homework by themselves. In the next few years, I won't be needed. That's nothing compared to the day they get their driver's license, either." (Sometimes I think I should've gone to acting class, as much as I over dramatize the everyday things in family life.)

Be careful what you wish for, remember? And boy did I get it.

The feelings of inadequacy and emptiness didn't have time to simmer in my soul, however. The very next morning my beautiful Michael stumbled up the stairs.

"What happened, honey?" I asked, scooping him up into my lap.

"I went to see if Awyssa could pway, but I fell down on the concwete and bumped my head!" he cried.

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Sure enough, the bump was the size of a small rock, and the tears rolled down his face without any sign of stopping. But after an off-key version of "You Are My Sunshine," a couple of smooches to the forehead and some tummy tickling, Michael was off and running again and I felt wanted.

A full night's sleep, uninterrupted, is a dream come true, but that night I gave thanks to God for boo-boos.

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