I've always loved LOVED kids. Like, seriously, I think I knew when I was 9 years old that I wanted one or maybe two or five. But I tended to like them on the older side. Babies seemed a little tiny and useless. Honestly, all they do is poop and cry all the time. I thought that when I was 9 and pretty much thought that right up until the moment I gave birth, probably several months after even.
And then I don't know when I started to come around (I'm assuming I've come around anyway, seeing as how I have this kid that I kind of think is awesome). But still, I realize why you really just can't see the value in babies until you have your own. And then, I'm not sure how that translates into liking OTHER people's babies. Because you hear it all the time, including from my own mouth -- some other baby comes into the room, and I'm all "AW, so cute, I remember when my little bugger was this tiny. Those were the days, huh kiddo?" And I look wistfully down at my much larger child and remember the days when it didn't hurt my arms to carry her around.
All of us are on crack when we think this. Or we're lying. Or maybe the hormones that let us willingly endure torture from a little nugget barely the size of our hand still haven't worn off. Because back when our own darlings were that size, we were a colossal sleep-deprived mess with vomit and poop all over our clothes.
So before you start thinking I'm terrible (but come on, you know you agree with me, whether you have kids or not), I will say that I'm SO aware of how quickly this time has flown. These days, Diya doesn't want to be rocked to sleep anymore. We're down to nursing once a day. She wants to try to eat on her own. She hands me her sippy cup to give her some water, and I melt, just happy to be needed for something. I know I'm going to blink and suddenly she's going to be off to college in another state. It scares the shit out of me, and there are days when I want every moment to last forever, just like exactly the way it is.
But then there are mornings like today. And I don't look back, I look forward, to a time when she becomes some one you can talk to, reason with. Today, she's been having one of those "goddangit, i woke up too early with pee up my back and i'm not letting you forget it, witch" days. The tears started when we were changing her outfit (although apparently dad was able to win giggles before he took off for work), continued after her morning milk. Which seemed sufficient at the time, but ten minutes later, she caught sight of her sippy cup and decided that she needed more seven seconds ago. Then it was on to pointing at the window wanting to play ball. Which entails me carrying her, throwing the ball, running after the ball, picking it up, letting her throw the ball, and then leaning down again to pick it up and throw it again for real. You know, kind of like playing chess with yourself but so much harder on your arms.
That ended much too soon for her liking because I may have enlisted Mia's help with the fetching portion but that was not to her majesty's liking. Of course Mia then went off with the ball, and you would have thought the world had ended the way tears started flowing.
I was finally able to convince her to chase the ball around in the kitchen herself, and she happily threw it across the room, crawled over to it, and repeat long enough for me to get her breakfast going. I think Mia was peeved to have both her ball and her game be commandeered by the baby (who has way too many off-limit toys already). She sulked in a corner, but honestly, I could only deal with one offspring's drama and hurt feelings at a time.
Anyway, she's napping now. It was one of these mornings where 8:30 rolled around and I figured it was respectably late enough to try for a morning nap while I finally got some breakfast and tea. I had already called G at 7 to tell him that he better not be late coming home from work because there was only so much I can take. He was still driving to work at the time.
The drama queen behavior is a new thing. She points and cries if it's not immediately offered to her. Whether it's running around outside or the hot pan on the stove top, it has to be hers if she wants it. And seriously, the tears will start running down her face immediately. She's an on and off switch, laughing with glee when you provide and in utter despair when you don't. I had been thinking this was something I could look forward to in teenage land, but clearly, my daughter has gotten a head start.
I'm finding that I have no patience for this phase. Give me the hospital visits and middle-of-the-night wake ups. I might complain about them but they don't grate on my nerves the way the whining does. On these days, I look forward to the time when I can tell her, "I'm sorry, you can't have that knife because you can do some serious damage to your pretty face if you're not careful" and have that be the end of it. Anyone have some earplugs I can borrow until then?
In other news, you know how dogs sometimes have pieces of grass stuck in their butthole after they poop? And you have to help them pull it out because if they're like Mia, they freak out that it's there and can't just push out a little harder? And it's because you can't stop the damn dogs from eating grass because they're idiots like that? Well, anyway, this morning, our human child had a blade of grass stuck in her butt when she pooped!! Dammit, why won't anyone listen to me when I tell them that grass isn't for eating???
Clearly, it's been an eventful morning.
And then I don't know when I started to come around (I'm assuming I've come around anyway, seeing as how I have this kid that I kind of think is awesome). But still, I realize why you really just can't see the value in babies until you have your own. And then, I'm not sure how that translates into liking OTHER people's babies. Because you hear it all the time, including from my own mouth -- some other baby comes into the room, and I'm all "AW, so cute, I remember when my little bugger was this tiny. Those were the days, huh kiddo?" And I look wistfully down at my much larger child and remember the days when it didn't hurt my arms to carry her around.
All of us are on crack when we think this. Or we're lying. Or maybe the hormones that let us willingly endure torture from a little nugget barely the size of our hand still haven't worn off. Because back when our own darlings were that size, we were a colossal sleep-deprived mess with vomit and poop all over our clothes.
So before you start thinking I'm terrible (but come on, you know you agree with me, whether you have kids or not), I will say that I'm SO aware of how quickly this time has flown. These days, Diya doesn't want to be rocked to sleep anymore. We're down to nursing once a day. She wants to try to eat on her own. She hands me her sippy cup to give her some water, and I melt, just happy to be needed for something. I know I'm going to blink and suddenly she's going to be off to college in another state. It scares the shit out of me, and there are days when I want every moment to last forever, just like exactly the way it is.
But then there are mornings like today. And I don't look back, I look forward, to a time when she becomes some one you can talk to, reason with. Today, she's been having one of those "goddangit, i woke up too early with pee up my back and i'm not letting you forget it, witch" days. The tears started when we were changing her outfit (although apparently dad was able to win giggles before he took off for work), continued after her morning milk. Which seemed sufficient at the time, but ten minutes later, she caught sight of her sippy cup and decided that she needed more seven seconds ago. Then it was on to pointing at the window wanting to play ball. Which entails me carrying her, throwing the ball, running after the ball, picking it up, letting her throw the ball, and then leaning down again to pick it up and throw it again for real. You know, kind of like playing chess with yourself but so much harder on your arms.
That ended much too soon for her liking because I may have enlisted Mia's help with the fetching portion but that was not to her majesty's liking. Of course Mia then went off with the ball, and you would have thought the world had ended the way tears started flowing.
I was finally able to convince her to chase the ball around in the kitchen herself, and she happily threw it across the room, crawled over to it, and repeat long enough for me to get her breakfast going. I think Mia was peeved to have both her ball and her game be commandeered by the baby (who has way too many off-limit toys already). She sulked in a corner, but honestly, I could only deal with one offspring's drama and hurt feelings at a time.
Anyway, she's napping now. It was one of these mornings where 8:30 rolled around and I figured it was respectably late enough to try for a morning nap while I finally got some breakfast and tea. I had already called G at 7 to tell him that he better not be late coming home from work because there was only so much I can take. He was still driving to work at the time.
The drama queen behavior is a new thing. She points and cries if it's not immediately offered to her. Whether it's running around outside or the hot pan on the stove top, it has to be hers if she wants it. And seriously, the tears will start running down her face immediately. She's an on and off switch, laughing with glee when you provide and in utter despair when you don't. I had been thinking this was something I could look forward to in teenage land, but clearly, my daughter has gotten a head start.
I'm finding that I have no patience for this phase. Give me the hospital visits and middle-of-the-night wake ups. I might complain about them but they don't grate on my nerves the way the whining does. On these days, I look forward to the time when I can tell her, "I'm sorry, you can't have that knife because you can do some serious damage to your pretty face if you're not careful" and have that be the end of it. Anyone have some earplugs I can borrow until then?
In other news, you know how dogs sometimes have pieces of grass stuck in their butthole after they poop? And you have to help them pull it out because if they're like Mia, they freak out that it's there and can't just push out a little harder? And it's because you can't stop the damn dogs from eating grass because they're idiots like that? Well, anyway, this morning, our human child had a blade of grass stuck in her butt when she pooped!! Dammit, why won't anyone listen to me when I tell them that grass isn't for eating???
Clearly, it's been an eventful morning.
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