Being a mother of a baby isn’t so bad.
Of course, it hasn’t been easy. There’s been the sleep deprivation. Coming to grips with the physical aftermath of childbirth. The identity shift. The new and terrifying responsibility of a brand new life. The sleep deprivation.
The first time I held her in my arms, I worried I’d break her. She was so small, so new. I hadn’t held a baby that small in, well, EVER.
Sophie on her first full day in the hospital
There’s been plenty of second guessing. Am I feeding her right? Is she getting enough sleep? Is that diaper too tight? Too loose? Why is her poop glowing in the dark?
Every meal is an adventure.
We’ve entered a phase, or at least I hope it’s a normal phase that all parents go through with their nine month old children. I’m not sure what to call it other than the Impossible Nine Month Crabassery Stage.
“I don’t want to get dressed!”
“I don’t want to put a diaper back on!”
“How dare you set me down on the floor and not hold me in your arms 24 hours a day!”
“I know I ate the first bite of yogurt like it was the greatest bite of yogurt I’ve ever eaten in my life, but I DO NOT WANT THAT SECOND BITE AND DO NOT GET IT NEAR MY MOUTH OR I WILL KNOCK THAT SPOON OUT OF YOUR HAND SO FREAKING FAST THAT YOGURT WILL COVER ALL FOUR WALLS OF THIS KITCHEN!!! MUUUAAAHHHHHH!!!!”
I’ve entered my “No, Sophie” phase.
“No, Sophie.”
“No, take that out of your mouth.”
“No, stop pulling the dog’s tail.”
“No, take the dog’s tail out of your mouth.”
“No, you cannot sit around all day in the nude.”
“No, you must put a diaper on because there’s this little skill called ‘bladder control’ that you don’t quite have a handle on yet.”
No. No. NOOOOOO.
I was struggling with her this morning, trying to wrestle her down on the bed to fasten the tabs on her diaper, and I saw her. My baby, who used to lie completely helpless, motionless, incapable of crawling right off the bed and flopping on the floor (which may have happened this morning, ugh) was, well, not so that kind of baby anymore. She’s still small compared to other kids her age, but what she lacks in national percentile weight and height numbers, she makes up for in strength and simple stubbornness. She’s mobile. She smiles when I enter the room. She reaches out her hands for me to pick her up. She feeds herself finger foods. She babbles out loud to her toys and to the dogs. She’s starting to become a little kid.
Hoodies on babies might be the cutest thing ever. Just saying.
There are some days when I long for the day when she can communicate with me. In ENGLISH. And sometimes I can’t wait to see what kind of kid she’ll be. But honestly, I’m scared. After nine months, I feel like I’m finally getting a handle on this whole parent to a baby deal. But a toddler? A little kid? Until now, I haven’t given the whole thing much thought. No wonder I’m having nightmares where I’m back in high school and I haven’t studied for my final exam and I’m not wearing any pants and my locker won’t open because I can’t remember the combination.
Maybe what I’m worried about most is that I’ll be a lousy kid parent. That I made it through early infant stage by the skin of my teeth on nothing but luck, and as it gets tougher — as she starts having different, bigger needs — I’m not going to know what to do. That I’ll take the easy way out like I have in so many other times in my life. That I don’t know if I’ll ever really know if I’m doing the right thing by her. That if I make one bad choice, it will send her careening down the wrong life path, and that it will be all my fault.
People told me it got easier as the kids got older. They were totally lying. There is no easier. There’s different, faster, more nerve-wracking. Will I be able to keep up?
No, it doesn’t get any easier as they get older.
Although, to be fair, evolution has provided a fair balance in that as WE get older, our standards and expectations of ourselves are substantially lowered.
It definitely doesn’t get easier. The amount of daily “no”s needed will only multply. My son is 18mths very stubborn and strong willed as well. I will say that while it doesn’t get easier it definitely is more rewarding as they get older and their personality really starts to emerge.
Whoops!
Umm, on behalf of all of us with older kids, I’d sincerely like to apologize for the misinformation.
It does get easier, but not for a loong, looong time. Like, when they’re in school and some other poor adult has to worry about them for 6 hours a day. (Of course that brings on a whole other set of anxieties, but not the “Oh my God, I’m going to do something stupid, and she’s going to DIE! ” ones, more the “What if she comes out of that school crying ’cause everybody’s mean to her?” ones. Yeah, they suck, too, but those ones you know are just part of growing up and that she’ll survive.)
Keep your chin up, you’ll keep growing right along with her!