I’m usually the type of person who’s pretty able to appreciate the ‘now.’ I don’t hate any seasons by any means, and simply enjoy the feeling when one transitions to the next. It’s refreshing and rejuvenating, isn’t it?
This year, I still feel this way, but I find myself excitedly looking forward to things. Much of it…okay, probably all of it has to do with the baby. You’d think I’d be grabbing at every square inch of time (yes, I know time isn’t measured in inches) with the little man before he turns into, well, a real man. At 7 1/2 months, he’s certainly growing up fast, and I’m not necessarily excited about it. He’s teething up a storm (none have appeared yet, but he’s fussing enough for a mouthful), days or weeks away from crawling, and LOVES his walker. You can see the longing in his eyes to be able to get closer to those darn cats.
So…close…ahhh, gotchya. Wait. Wait! Come back!!
I’ve been warned enough that once he’s mobile, life’s never the same.
Duh, we know. We knew that life would never be the same when we found out that we were having our awesome little guy in the first place. We knew about this whole sleep-deprived, slightly-controlled lifestyle that we’d be undertaking. Or, so we THOUGHT we knew.
I’m thinking this is one reason I’m kind of cool with him getting a tad older. We’ve had some rough patches. *gasp* Wait. Did I just admit for the whole world to see that life isn’t perfect? No sunshine? No rose petals? No perfect baby, no perfect life??
Yup! But don’t be mistaken, please. I LOVE OUR LIFE. Well, most of it. As far as our home life goes, we’re lucky enough to be stronger today than we were, hell, when we got married. Parenthood has made us fall even more in love with each other. We’re supportive (most of the time; sleep deprivation has its residual effects), and our priorities are completely one and the same. Our cats are hysterical bits of daily entertainment that we feel downright blessed to have in our lives. Our families, as annoying or over-reactionary or misunderstanding as they may sometimes be, are incredible and truly have our backs.
We wouldn’t ask for any other baby. Hadley is in-stinkin’-credible. Not that looks matter, but the kid’s got ’em. We even considered getting him into baby modeling, if we were in a more conducive environment to do so. (I kid you not!) Somehow, he’s masculine but uber-sensitive at the same time. He’s pensive. He’s expressive. His giggle is beyond adorable, and infectious…then when he hears us laugh, he does this laugh that resembles a cough (like he’s forcing a laugh) because he’s mimicking what he thinks a “grown-up laugh” is. When he sees me after a short absence, his face beams in a way that doesn’t beam for anyone else. I’m here, honey. I’ll try to never leave you in a forever way.
Yeah, he’s a mama’s boy, through and through. Tough as nails in some ways and incredibly needy in the other. Therein lies some of the issue. We’ve gotten through most of his early gassy issues (in which he would SCREAM incessantly for quite awhile, which made a huge challenge for his grandma/sitter) but the kid. Won’t. Sleep.
There was a time (many months, actually) that he’d sleep a full night. Lately, we’ve gotten one of those nights in the past month. With a break from school last week, I realized that between BFing all day and night, I was up every three hours (one night he gave me a 4-hour span…halleluiah!) from Friday night to the NEXT Monday morning. But, I wouldn’t mind that so much as I do the fact that he won’t nap for his grandma. No, he DOESN’T WANT to nap. He hates it. He cries. He doesn’t like being put down on his back. He doesn’t want to be left alone. He wakes up almost immediately when you put him down already asleep. It’s rough.
Some days, I think it’s teething. (Partly, possibly.) Other times, I think he’s just so attached (as Dave puts it, the kid’s a spokesbaby for attachment parenting…which we don’t really subscribe to). Some might call him “spoiled.” How does one spoil a 7-month-old?! Well, regardless, it’s a phase and I remind myself that this, too, shall pass. I’m thinking that once he starts crawling and expending energy that he may welcome naps and nighttime a tad more.
Which is where my spring fever comes in. I’m allowing myself not to wish, but to daydream about all the wonderful things coming down the line for our family with the coming of a new season.
March is one hell of a long month, isn’t it? February’s so obnoxiously cute in its shortness; March is obnoxious in its sheer length. I shouldn’t complain since educators get mega time off, but it’s rough to go from mid-winter break through the month — we’ve got Good Friday off, then the second week in April is (finally) SPRIIIING BREEEEAAAAK.
I’m itching to get this kid in his stroller to hit the pavement. Talking about the smells in the air, the singing birds, the squirmy wormies, the hints of green popping up all around.
To get back to farmers’ markets with their young asparagus, fiddleheads, garlic scapes, and fresh herbs I didn’t have the time to grow on a hardly-gets-sun kitchen shelf. Planning and planting our own garden, showing Hadley what happens when we put something special in dirt and take care of it.
Finally getting a thorough spring cleaning done (I don’t know the last time I truly did the spring cleaning that my mother would approve), even if it means requesting that my mom come and assist me while the hubs watches the baby. Cleaning every square inch, including those damn glass ceiling fan light covers. Yes, even under and behind the couch. Organizing the basement and giving *someone* a chance to finish painting. Piling stuff for the annual garage sale.
Considering our summer vacation, or even grabbing a quick spring getaway to another state to visit friends without the fear of sudden winter weather thwarting our plans.
And Easter. Honestly, Easter was never my favorite holidays, although I’ve always had reverence for Lent and self sacrifice in order to cleanse one’s spirit; mind you, the only part of Lent I’ve participated in this year is the Almighty Fish Fry. (As a child, I gave things up, went to church…all that.)
I was always incredibly wary of the Easter Bunny. Was he a small (normal-sized) rabbit? A human-sized bunny? A guy in a fuzzy suit? Either way, how would a rabbit have the ability to hide eggs AND carry those cheap-o baskets full of stuff to everyone…with bunny paws? Santa, somehow, was relatively believable. Easter Bunny? Not s’much.
But, it’s the fact that we can start our own tradition. That it’s not a huge gift-driven holiday that can be ruined by the best intentions of relatives. That WE can get a handful of useful, fun items (an outfit or two, a summer hat and sunglasses, some bubbles to watch us blow, a couple of books) for the EB to bring him. I look forward to the days when we can insert sidewalk chalk and a jump rope, and color and hide eggs (although we’ll have to buy regular white ones; he won’t know they come in any color but brown). That we can have a fun day. It’s nostalgic for me, I guess.
As a child, even if it was still REALLY cold, we’d run outside to at least try out our bubbles. Even if the sticky solution ran down our hands and arms in freezing cold streams. Sometimes, a simple walk around town (whether before or after dinner) was invigorating, probably because we hadn’t walked during winter. It also meant that we’d be hauling our bikes out of storage in the garage soon, wiping the cobwebs and mud from the previous year off and filling the tires with air. That we could switch out our fluffy, warm winter coats with thinner jackets.
So, what can I say? I’m allowing myself to be excited. Of course, I’m enjoying the time we have together now, but what’s wrong with a little daydreaming about what’s to come? Any readers excited about the new season?? (Besides getting rid of the cruddy weather. Mind you, I’m in the midst of a snow day right now.)
And don’t even get me started on the summertime. Squeeeeeeaaaal!
(The night that I wrote this, the baby slept. What’re the odds? Could be a handful of reasons, but I’m not complaining!)