So it has been a few days... The past week has included a funeral, a hospital appointment, baby massage classes and a 14-week growth spurt involving you-know-who. Said growth spurt is the thing that seems to have eaten up most of my time and quite frankly, it is exhausting.
In a nutshell my angel of the morning has been turning into an evil grizzler at lunchtime, these grizzles culminating in a Damien the Omen-like performance come early evening. But then one night he goes to sleep, like a little computer he downloads mysterious baby stuff, he reboots and come morning all is right with the world again. Then suddenly he does something he couldn't do before like giggle, or sound a different vowel, or kick his legs when he's excited.
I love all of these little miracles, really I do. It's just the getting there that sometimes makes me want to cry. But in a good way, if there is such a thing. And I find that massage helps.
Please see fig A:
Our first baby massage class is great. Think a circle of cooing chubby little bodies wriggling around on folded towels, with the odd projectile vomit from Max lying on our left and particularly loud and proud baby farts from Liam to our right. Rory just stares at me suspiciously as I pour out the oil and start rubbing my hands together. His eyes bore into me like little almond-shaped instruments of torture while I gently raise his leg and commence the joy-giving.
He gives a beaming smile at first but then starts looking around the room bored after about two minutes. Okay, point taken - you're a baby and you'd rather be hitting the bottle about now, or watching Mr. Bloom's Nursery whilst drizzling your drool all over a muslin. It's just what babies do.
After about 40 minutes of "milking" and "rolling" I look around and recognise my expression in every other mother who, like me, is finding the massaging of their infant about as easy and enjoyable as patting a cat that's not in the mood. I envy the two instructors and their tot-sized rag dolls. It must be easy to showcase a neverending list of fancy strokes on a static, silent and bodily fluid-free foam body.
We have a great laugh nonetheless and - incredibly - Rory has a record 3 hour nap that afternoon. Which suits me just fine.
In a nutshell my angel of the morning has been turning into an evil grizzler at lunchtime, these grizzles culminating in a Damien the Omen-like performance come early evening. But then one night he goes to sleep, like a little computer he downloads mysterious baby stuff, he reboots and come morning all is right with the world again. Then suddenly he does something he couldn't do before like giggle, or sound a different vowel, or kick his legs when he's excited.
I love all of these little miracles, really I do. It's just the getting there that sometimes makes me want to cry. But in a good way, if there is such a thing. And I find that massage helps.
Please see fig A:
He gives a beaming smile at first but then starts looking around the room bored after about two minutes. Okay, point taken - you're a baby and you'd rather be hitting the bottle about now, or watching Mr. Bloom's Nursery whilst drizzling your drool all over a muslin. It's just what babies do.
After about 40 minutes of "milking" and "rolling" I look around and recognise my expression in every other mother who, like me, is finding the massaging of their infant about as easy and enjoyable as patting a cat that's not in the mood. I envy the two instructors and their tot-sized rag dolls. It must be easy to showcase a neverending list of fancy strokes on a static, silent and bodily fluid-free foam body.
We have a great laugh nonetheless and - incredibly - Rory has a record 3 hour nap that afternoon. Which suits me just fine.
Obscure delight
Creative or Domestic?
I must admit it has been neither lately, even though there have been enough rainy and windy days to keep me indoors, climbing the walls. I blame the abovementioned growth spurt for my lethargy - a lack of sleep does not a great creative mind make, unless you're talking hallucinations. Luckily things haven't gotten that bad. So normal service will resume this week, now that I have my easygoing son backand no longer have his growth spurt to blame.
I must admit it has been neither lately, even though there have been enough rainy and windy days to keep me indoors, climbing the walls. I blame the abovementioned growth spurt for my lethargy - a lack of sleep does not a great creative mind make, unless you're talking hallucinations. Luckily things haven't gotten that bad. So normal service will resume this week, now that I have my easygoing son back
