Rockin the Dupa

Dupa is an old Polish word for hindquarters =-) We use it so often in our home that we forget that others don't know it.
Rocking the dupa is big in this house. My girls loved it (still do), and now Joseph insists on it: I keep my hand on his bottom and rock it back and forth until he's asleep. My arm just barely fits thru the slats of his crib, and after a good 30 minutes, it starts to feel pretty tired and my fingers start to feel numb, so while sitting on the floor I prop my arm on my knee. Sometimes Joseph notices my adjustment and complains...apparently the dupa-rocking feels different if my arm is at a different angle. And if I remove my hand too soon, then it's all over. He'll escalate quickly, and if I'm not fast enough to calm him, then his brother will stir. So, I rock the dupa - admittedly not always with the best attitude. I try to remind myself that perhaps I'm the first person to offer this type of comfort to him. Perhaps he's had far too many nights without someone to console his fears. It's just hard. My selfishness scream so loud in my heart: "Ugh! Haven't I met your every need and wish all day? Don't you know you're not the only kid in this house? Can't it be my turn to get to choose how I spend my time? Can I be off the clock now?"
I'm so immature. It's a wonder that God has made me a mother. I'm an expert at temper tantrums - sorry Joseph, you got nothing on me in that arena, I just happen to be better at keeping my tantrums inside my own head...