It was a quiet evening. There was nothing to do and the toddler was snoring upstairs. My husband and I were relaxing. One of us yawned. The inevitable followed: a discussion of sleep. Or more specifically, who had gotten the least sleep in the past week.
We had unknowingly begun a round of the Martyr Game.
The game is simple. One person starts by saying “I’m tired.” The next: “I’m not sure why you’re yawning because you got three more hours of sleep than I did.” The first person retorts, “Yes, but you took a nap, plus you sat on your backside all day long.” Eventually the whole thing ends with two tired, snappy people and no winner.
Daniel always has the numbers on his side as he is up before Nate and I. This should mean that I automatically lose, but I hold The Ultimate Trump Card. The Ultimate Trump Card is played with a slight pout, sleepy eyes, and a quiet tone. “Yes, honey, but you know that ever since my surgery, I can’t help that I need more sleep than you.”
I play dirty.
Daniel can’t really argue with a medical reason, but that doesn’t stop him from trying. It’s a ridiculous game. But it’s so easy to play. One simple complaint, one comment of half-commiseration, half-selfishness, and it’s begun.
Most parents, I think, are familar with this game. Whose husband is the biggest jerk, whose kid got the most colds last year, whose kids are the hardest to handle at the grocery store—those are the really interesting topics at the local play date. It’s the Married With Kids version of one-upping.
Parents are people of superlatives. It’s as if our toddler’s mood swings are contagious. We are thrilled with life one day and in depression the next. One quick facebook log-in confrims what I already know: Suzy got two hours of sleep, Hannah’s “amazingly perfect husband” fell ill to the bug-of-the-month. If I had a dollar everyone complained about a diaper explosion, well, I’d never look at a diaper again.
We need to stop.
We aren’t martyrs, we’re parents. It’s common knowledge that the root word for parent means “One who gives everything and never sleeps enough.” We give to our children all day long and most of the time, it honestly is a delight. When Nate wants his favorite food or a kiss, it’s a joyful thing for me to give that to him. Yet, when he’s in bed, I stop giving and turn my day’s work into a weapon in the Martyr Game.
This life—this whirlwind of a toddler, toys, and never-ending grocery trips—is our life. I’m called to give. Yes, I need rest and understanding, but it’s not a tragedy (and certainly not a competition) if I don’t.
Even if I do have the Ultimate Trump Card.