Rose hips
Adventure - yes, I used the right word in my last post. I just needed to add a mis in front - at least, that's how LB (which is how I will be referring to this offspring of mine heretofore) sees it I'm sure.
When LB was still baking, everyone would repeat that oft-heard cliche - how having a baby changes everything and how you learn to appreciate the small things in life again. I used to think of these as poetic, philosophic moments - like appreciating a sunset, a warm, sweet-smelling breeze or the morning birdsong. Turns out that's not it at all - it is fantasizing about clipping your toe nails, or being in a clean shower or having enough time to wash all the shampoo off your hair.
I realize now that having a baby is a little like having a cold : you know how when your nose is super stuffed up and you are having a tough time drawing a breath from that mountaintop of pillows you made, you want to kick yourself for every non-cold day when you didn't appreciate your nose for the wonderful breathing device it is? That's pretty much it except this cold lasts a loooong time. I can't believe how breezily I dismissed lazy weekends spent sleeping in, getting some chores done, and watching movies/reading books as "eh - just an ordinary weekend". If I met me from pre-LB, I'd clip her on the side of her head and call her a spoilt brat.
It's not all whines and hard work, though. There's some times of pure horror too - of course, on my part. If you find yourself trying to not-so-gently send a pacifier into the mouth of a wee 9 week old in the middle of the night and telling them sternly to either go to bed in the next 5 minutes or fend for themselves, you know you've hit rock bottom. Don't worry about LB, though - she let me know quickly (and sternly) with a half cry-half shout that she wasn't having it and I went back to my pleading and whimpering and got her to sleep about an hour later.
I know things are actually going great and I have a wonderful baby and blessed life but it is hard to remember that in the face of a full-on wailing baby. In fact, I think that most of the bad, angry, nasty decisions are made in the face of a wailing baby. In fact again, I wonder what the world would be like if there were no wailing babies. If all babies fed without fussing, played and cooed happily and let you know that it was nap time by yawning and laying on their side with a sweet smile or just crawling directly to their bed (once they are of crawling age, of course) , maybe this world would be a lot more peaceful and content. I bet you it would.
But I'm sure this too, like everything else, will pass. LB and I will probably look back on these days and weeks and recollect the little events and laugh. Like that time I took her on a walk in the early evening of a hot summer day, and when she started crying, kept making small talk and pointing out random trees, houses, dogs, etc all the while grinning and smiling at her like a stupid ape without realizing that she was overheated and what she wanted was to just get back to the bloody A/C. Yeah, what a riot that was! Not. "What a fathead!" is more like what she will be thinking. But like it or not, she's stuck with this fathead. And as I type this up in the nursery, she's sleeping peacefully in her crib rolled up like a burrito in her swaddle and looking unbelievably cute for someone related to me. I guess this is one of those moments too.
And so ( hopefully) to some afternoon rest.
When LB was still baking, everyone would repeat that oft-heard cliche - how having a baby changes everything and how you learn to appreciate the small things in life again. I used to think of these as poetic, philosophic moments - like appreciating a sunset, a warm, sweet-smelling breeze or the morning birdsong. Turns out that's not it at all - it is fantasizing about clipping your toe nails, or being in a clean shower or having enough time to wash all the shampoo off your hair.
I realize now that having a baby is a little like having a cold : you know how when your nose is super stuffed up and you are having a tough time drawing a breath from that mountaintop of pillows you made, you want to kick yourself for every non-cold day when you didn't appreciate your nose for the wonderful breathing device it is? That's pretty much it except this cold lasts a loooong time. I can't believe how breezily I dismissed lazy weekends spent sleeping in, getting some chores done, and watching movies/reading books as "eh - just an ordinary weekend". If I met me from pre-LB, I'd clip her on the side of her head and call her a spoilt brat.
It's not all whines and hard work, though. There's some times of pure horror too - of course, on my part. If you find yourself trying to not-so-gently send a pacifier into the mouth of a wee 9 week old in the middle of the night and telling them sternly to either go to bed in the next 5 minutes or fend for themselves, you know you've hit rock bottom. Don't worry about LB, though - she let me know quickly (and sternly) with a half cry-half shout that she wasn't having it and I went back to my pleading and whimpering and got her to sleep about an hour later.
I know things are actually going great and I have a wonderful baby and blessed life but it is hard to remember that in the face of a full-on wailing baby. In fact, I think that most of the bad, angry, nasty decisions are made in the face of a wailing baby. In fact again, I wonder what the world would be like if there were no wailing babies. If all babies fed without fussing, played and cooed happily and let you know that it was nap time by yawning and laying on their side with a sweet smile or just crawling directly to their bed (once they are of crawling age, of course) , maybe this world would be a lot more peaceful and content. I bet you it would.
But I'm sure this too, like everything else, will pass. LB and I will probably look back on these days and weeks and recollect the little events and laugh. Like that time I took her on a walk in the early evening of a hot summer day, and when she started crying, kept making small talk and pointing out random trees, houses, dogs, etc all the while grinning and smiling at her like a stupid ape without realizing that she was overheated and what she wanted was to just get back to the bloody A/C. Yeah, what a riot that was! Not. "What a fathead!" is more like what she will be thinking. But like it or not, she's stuck with this fathead. And as I type this up in the nursery, she's sleeping peacefully in her crib rolled up like a burrito in her swaddle and looking unbelievably cute for someone related to me. I guess this is one of those moments too.
And so ( hopefully) to some afternoon rest.
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