I’m sitting on my living room floor watching a very pokey baby try for the umpteenth time to eat the shoelaces off her father’s hunting boots. It’s one of those rare mornings when there isn’t music or television to disturb the quiet. Snow covers the bare trees and exposed rocks on the hill across the street. I’m trying to sit here and just soak it all in. It’s so relaxing when the house is clean and quiet and the baby is happily cooing to herself while she wreaks a tiny bit of havoc.
Woke up earlier than I wanted to but it’s my own fault for being groggy. I stayed up way too late last night trying to make one more crochet bootie. But I’m actually feeling quite alert and content. I gave up drinking caffeine when I became pregnant and while nursing but since we aren’t doing any of that right now I let myself have a cup. Getting ready to type up this post when I notice that little girl has given up the laces for a fuzzy she’s found on the tile. First she rears back to better focus on her target, opens her mouth wide with tongue outstretched, pauses, and dives for the fuzzy. Unfortunately her poor little nose gets bopped in the process and mommy is called to the rescue.
A few kisses, cuddles, and snuggles later she’s ready for a little snooze on the couch.
We wake up from our nap to the sounds of stomping feet in the next door apartment. They’re nice people but they stampede around their house like they’re carrying furniture. The sounds coming through our shared wall make me imagine a thinned, bowed, and faded floor board straining under repeated abuse. It doesn’t matter though because baby girl is bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. She wipes the sleep out of her puffy eyes with her hammy little fists and smiles up at me groggily.
Shower time! I used to be the conqueror of shower time, absolutely refusing to share that space with any small intruders. But it isn’t fair to always hoist a perky baby on a half-dead, worked-a-night-shift husband so I’ve relented a bit of bathroom real estate to my tiny visitor. She’s a pretty well-behaved tenant who talks to herself and throws toys around from her plushy seat. If I take a little longer than she approves I am swiftly reproached by a shrill screech. It’s worth it to see her excited smile when I peel back the shower curtain.
I brush my teeth and she alternately gnaws and uses her toothbrush to sweep the floor, her feet, her chair. Let’s get dressed! We wrestle around to fit a onesie over her head without strangling or knocking her off the changing table. I wonder if it reminds her of being born when I am simply inept at disentangling her head and mass of hair from pajamas. The rest of our day is taken up with rolling on the floor, strewing our toys all over the living room, exploring the dining room and eating needles off the Christmas tree, eat, sleep, eat, poo, bath time, and sleep.
Lunch is a pretty straight forward occasion. Munchkin is all seriousness when it comes to food. The cutest thing is when I put the spoon in front of her but get distracted only to look back and find her gaping mouth moving closer and eyes focused on her prize. I know she’s full when she is more interested in eating her bib. Today’s lunch was followed swiftly with the attempted theft of MY lunch! We’re still enjoying some floor time so I put her next to her toys, turn on a movie, and sit next to her to eat my own lunch. Like a dog she has a sixth sense about when mommy is eating or drinking, even when her back is turned or I am in another room! I swear! She is just learning to army crawl but discovers an untapped power and is able to climb halfway over my legs to reach for my plate. I am torn between amusement at her determination, pride from her small achievement, and hunger because this is the first food I’ve eaten all day. In the end… hunger wins and I replace the diminutive burglar and scarf down my own lunch.
Daddy time is a very special time during the day around 2:30, 3 o’clock. It’s special for everyone but probably a little less so for daddy. It’s special to me because it is the first break I get in the day from being responsible for our daughter’s happiness and well-being. Is that a poo? Daddy’s turn! Has she had a bottle? Daddy’s turn! It’s special for the goof ball because daddy is her favorite play thing. Hunger, exhaustion, fuss, and clinginess are all things requiring mommy. Daddy gets smile, giggles, and hide-n-seek.
Not that daddy doesn’t put up with his fair share of angry baby but he is a clear favorite from the way her entire face lights up when he joins us for the day. Sometimes I just can’t wait for that break anymore so the baby and I stealthily sneak into bed for some noisy cuddles. Oh, were you sleeping?
Dinner Time, Bath Time, Bed Time
The rest of the day precedes in pretty much the same manner as the first bit. Except I am much more tired, the baby is grumpier, and we’re all hungry. Dinner is a juggle to keep her happy, get the husband fed and packed for work, and try to repair the house that I swear! was clean earlier. Like the rest of the post I finish my day as lazily as possible. Holding on through inconsolable fussing until 6 o’clock and I can reasonably bathe our stinky baby.
Bath time is a highlight enjoyed by everyone involved. It’s a short reprieve from the whining and growling of a tired baby. For Autumn it’s a relaxing exercise in managing to keep hold of both tubby toys and eat bubbles at the same time. Sometimes we throw in splashing and kicking!
In our fuzzy, footie jammies we read a few books and then turn down the lights. After cuddling and rocking for a couple minutes she’s out like a light by 6:45 and I have a blessed 4-5 hours before she wakes up to be changed. Sometimes I need to feel like an adult again before I go to bed so I pour a generous glass of wine, maybe crochet for a bit, surf the internet, watch a movie or a show, read a book and fall into bed myself.