What to do today

In the summer -  when W was immobile and the air was warm, the ground was dry and the yard was not covered with leaves and acorns and other delicious baby treats - we would spend hours sat out on the grass. We'd read books, stare up at the trees and covertly check facebook on the phone while the other one was busy experimenting with how grass felt if he put his face into it. These days an excursion into the yard will result in muddy knees, partially digested leaf matter and an attempt to spear himself with a shovel.

Inside isn't much better. Kitchen drawers are made for trapping baby fingers; the cat intentionally leaves the door open through to his food and litter, and the robot vacuum cleaner I got for my birthday - while entertaining - is presumably not designed to play tag with a 10 month old. Everything else is just plain boring. Especially once the junk mail and potential electrocution sites have been moved out of reach. 

So we go out. Often at the expense of naps. But the boy needs to move and I need to not lose my mind. We go on play dates and he helpfully points out all the baby proofing they still need to do. We go grocery shopping, or to the local community farm. We go to the indoor play area where he manages to find the one piece of chalk small enough to fit in his mouth and big enough to stop my heart for a few seconds. 

Some days I run out of ideas or energy, or both. While he'd be quite happy visiting the rabbits and chickens at the local farm for the third time this week, I am less inclined. I relayed this to Jeremy - that sometimes I just don't know what to do with him. 

"Why don't you go hiking?" was his response. 

To some people, hiking means a leisurely walk in the woods. Something that requires sensible shoes perhaps, but sneakers would do the job. Something local and relatively short. 

Jeremy is not some people. 

To Jeremy, hiking means New Hampshire and the White Mountains. It means maps and emergency water. It means breathtaking views after breathstealing elevation gain. 

The White Mountains are 3 hours away. Our son weighs over 23 pounds. I am me and Jeremy has known me, as I am, for over 12 years.

I stared at him, somewhat (100%) incredulously. 

"Why not?" He said. "I totally would."

He would as well.

Lullaby

I love you, bub. You know that I think. But it's really very important that you fall asleep right now and stay asleep. At least for long enough for me to sit down with wine and read a bit.

Long enough for some of the ache from today to seep out of me and into the sofa. For me to start to feel a little more like me than I do right now - to remember that I am a person who likes art and music and poetry and who can talk reasonably intelligently about current events. Just sleep long enough for me to clean the kitchen floor ready for you to lick it tomorrow. Licking floors seems to be your new thing.

And if you could give me enough time to talk to your father about something other than you, that'd be great. We love talking about you but we need to make sure we remember the roots of us as well. You came from those roots.

My love, just sleep long enough for me to find my place within today - to understand that the day was not defined by your refusing to nap or your newfound ability to Houdini away from any and all attempts to change you. There were smiles and giggles today. You saw your first rabbit and there were moments where I could see you learning something for the very first time.

Just sleep a little longer, sweet boy. But if you wake and you need me, I'll be there.

My current refrain

Here are the sentences most often repeated at the moment. Aside from, y'know, I love you / you're beautiful / sweet boy blah blah blah...

• Where is your other sock?

• Don't eat that

• What are you eating?

• Don't bite me

• Ow!

• That's my phone

• Give me back my phone

• How are you not tired?

• That's cat food. Not baby food. 

• He will bite you

Survival of the whiniest

Another theory (I have many): whining is a key survival skill that has evolved over the eons and is now embedded into the genetic makeup of all children as a means to get what they want. It cannot be ignored or tuned out - it's the parenting equivalent of a mosquito in the ear and must be stopped by any means necessary.

Children know this.

They're programmed to know this.

So they keep going until finally. FINALLY. We cannot take it any longer and give in. Obviously this is the wrong thing to do. Obviously this teaches them that whining works. But the thing is, it does work. It's supposed to work. If the neanderthals had only held their ground and not given in then maybe this superskill wouldn't have developed to such great whiny heights. But they didn't. They gave in. And now we're doomed.

The eons are against us.

 

Origin story

W is starting to understand us and it feels miraculous. We say Uh-oh, he says uh-oh. We say clap, he claps. We say 'say Dada', he claps.

It's intermittent.

Yet aside from echoing 'uh-oh' to us (and we don't say it at appropriate uh-oh times, so we're not helping him much) , he's not talking yet. The sounds are all there, he just needs to attach them to objects. To people. To me.

But I've noticed that the sound he makes when he's upset, or tired, or angry is 'mamamamama'. And while I don't think he's asking for me, I do wonder if I will attach myself to the word rather than him attaching it to me - if by responding to his mamamama, the sound will eventually become a call. If maybe this is where the word found its root - from a pissed off baby and a responsive mama.

One of those days

Yesterday was one of those days. One of the days where I'm not sure if he's making me grouchy or I'm making him grouchy but we're both very definitely grouchy. One of the days where I spend far too much time on my phone; where I want to be writing or drawing or even running (and I never want to be running) - anything other than repeating the same tired songs in an attempt to keep him happy, to stop the whine.

We went to Walmart to look for baby gates, so that I can turn my back for five seconds without him setting off to eat cat food. There weren't any gates and a man in Walmart told me these were the best days of my life and I thought 'oh dear'. Then we went to PetSmart to look at the animals (so far he prefers PetSmart to any zoo or nature reserve I've taken him to) only all the animals had died or been sold, bar a lethargic mouse and a few sad budgies. Then I went into Old Navy where everything looked like everything I've ever owned, stretched. overwashed and thrown away. Followed by Nordstrom rack where everything was cashmere and really didn't deserve to be covered in baby snot. And then back home for another scrappy nap and the long long wait for Jeremy to get home.

Amid all of this grey boring day, there was a moment where I'd paused for a second to cry and wallow in just how tired, bored and covered in baby snot I was, and W turned around to look at me. I made myself smile at him and the grin I got in return - so perfect and toothless and adoring of me - broke through the grey.

So it was one of those days - snotty, guilty, boring, grey and the most perfect sunshine of a smile.

Brain power shortage

In pregnancy, occasional flakiness is brushed aside as 'Baby Brain', as if somehow being pregnant messes with your brain waves and slows you down. I didn't find this - I was just as forgetful and slow as usual. I did make use of the excuse, however.

What I want to know though is why no one talks about Mum Brain, because since having W my ability to hold down a conversation has diminished dramatically. And I don't just mean because I'm forever having to run off to stop him launching himself off/into/under hazards or being interrupted by screaming. I mean my brain moves so slowly that minutes pass by before I remember that conversations depend on two participants or that responses are required to questions. 

Similarly the number of times I have caught myself trying to make coffee by putting the grounds in the kettle or the cold water in the mug or - once - the hot water into the coffee grounds container is more than a little disconcerting. And I find myself stopping mid sentence to search around the echoing cavern of my brain to find the word for sponge or frying pan or something else equally mundane and presumably difficult to forget. 

I write all of this under the assumption that this is common to all Mums - particularly the co-sleeping, night nursing Mums out there - and not that I have early onset something-or-other. 

And, writing this, I've realised why no one talks about Mum Brain...

...They don't dare. 

wonder week my arse*

Figuring out what's going on with a baby - why they're being so darn fussy or why they're waking up every 20 minutes or why they categorically refuse to be put down (and yes that includes the baby carrier because clearly if your hands are free you're not trying hard enough) - is a bit like attempting to play pictionary with someone trying to draw a cat. Only they're blindfolded, using their left hand and have never seen or heard of a cat. You wind up just guessing all the guesses in the world. Where the simile breaks down is that at some point, the pictionary guesser will be correct whereas the baby guesser (aka me) might never be right because the answer may be 'all of the above' or 'just because'.

Apparently one of the reasons he might be being fussy and waking every 20 minutes and demanding to be held by my aching arms is that we're in a "wonder week" and he's secretly making some developmental leap which he's going to surprise us with when the crying aching fog lifts.

He better be able to speak in full sentences is all I have to say. 

*let the record show that this has been typed one handed while the other hand/arm supports a sleeping yet-still-nursing baby.