Monday(ne)/Remember The Time?

For (what felt like) years, leaf would only sleep on me or when she was transferred painstakingly, in minuscule increments, on a perfectly even plane, to another equally as cushioned surface as mamas boobies and residual jelly belly.
I tried EVERYTHING you can think of, and nothing helped shift her out from under the undiluted heavy cloud of dependence.

But one day while we were strolling – I on my leaden weary hooves, leaf reclined and slumped to the side of the pram, chin lifted to reveal those delicious neck rolls and the faintest of snores – I had a realisation.

I could literally not remember the last time I had seen her asleep.

I couldn’t stop, obviously, lest I wake the she-devil with sixth sense sonar sensitivity, but I couldn’t keep from staring. Every few steps I slowed down as much as was permissible, and snuck a peek.

That night was the first night I realised we were kind of out of that new born faze. I don’t even remember how old she was, surely more than six months.
But I do remember how much I missed her.

That was the first night I acknowledged that there would come a last time that I’d see her asleep.

That there’d be a time when I would put her down and never pick her up again.

That she wouldn’t always need me.

I still feel that way, despite the large number of days that I wish the kid would cut me some slack.
It’s really a very lonesome thought, and comes closely coupled with the knowledge that our conscious love is probably a long way from being equally reciprocal, if it ever is to be.

Because of this, I miss her even when she’s staring me in the eye and asking me to fix her sore knee by kissing her finger better.
Because of this, I check on her each night before I sleep.
Because of this, sometimes I can’t sleep because I want to be awake in case she cries out.
Because of this, I’m reluctant to give her a brother or sister.
Because of this, I struggle to leave her with anyone.
Because of this, I haven’t pursued my education, employment, or fitness with any respectable gusto.
Because of this, I pick her up and breathe deeply of her while she sleeps and sing to her, or whisper stories, or just tell her I love her over and over again.

She ruins me, but she also completes me, and I think that’s the mark of a great and enduring love story.

And I ALWAYS want to remember that.

-b

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Gear grinding

>I want to cancel my credit card
>spend twenty minutes on hold for the privilege
>redirected to appropriate department because CONSPIRACY there is no menu option to cancel
>finally prove my identity
>computer “calculates” payout fee THERE IS NONE I PAID IT OFF WEEKS AGO
>fill the time with “satisfaction” questionnaire aka “where else you gon’ get you money bitch” interrogation
>computer coincidentally concludes its strenuous calculations at exact same moment as interrogation questionnaire ends
>”JUST LETTING YOU KNOW”
>teeth clench, patience ends, polite bambi shrouded by sleep deprived bitchface
>still listen anyway because not exactly sure how to disregard strangers feelings and know that she’s just doing her job and this very occurrence had been anticipated anyway
>try to interrupt once when girl takes a breath
>last vestiges of polite bambi force termination of call lest the big banks conspire further to steal all the money’s as a radical response to lone rude phone conversation and full credit card

>>try not to go online shopping

-b

Monday(ne)

It’s Tuesday.. But the days blur.
This Friday November 21st is Did I Get Into University (Again) day.
I don’t have very high hopes because I kind of applied for an honours program that doesn’t technically have a distance component, but I know the first three years are all classes that DO.
So I’m fairly consumed with thinking about that.
And how I should probably be working cause uni is going to be hard considering how rarely leafs papa is home and it’s a long term thing and I should really be long term-ing the dollar dollar bills y’all.
Even though I need something stimulating, but it won’t start till march so there’s still time but even so I don’t want to leave leaf in day care so with a friend is best but it’s not fair to restrict her with me taking just a night time job… You recognise the crazy.

Meanwhile leaf is particularly fond of pooping her pants, loosening her nappy just enough that her tin chubby fingers fit inside it to reach aforementioned poo and just kinda flick it around. Maybe rub it in her hair, the tile grout, maybe the couch. Essentially just going with the feels.

-b

Peter Griffin knows what’s up.

Upon reflection, I’ve realised I have a slight penchant for aggression. Primarily passive aggression because who wants to get confrontational?! But it’s definitely not a trait I had in my arsenal when I was younger and I take some (perhaps unfounded) solace in the possibility that this aggression comes from a source of self confidence I previously never knew existed.

As such, I believe it would be prudent to take on a bit of my old bird word loving pal Peter, and incorporate some gear grinding into this here blog.

Maybe it’ll save you in the future. Maybe it’ll make you question the past.
Maybe (read – more likely) you won’t give a Giggle and Hoot and will have a comfortable chuckle to yourself over some shared grievance and be on your merry scrolling way.

In any case…

-b

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By the book or by the feels?

I guess first time mothers are all going to be the same whether they’re pregnant by plan and execution or just as surprised as I was: scared witless and devouring any information they can get their hands on.

The problem posed here, however, is that it is literally impossible to a) absorb all the tripe that’s produced as reliable literature, b) separate the quality tips from from unrealistic propaganda and c) function at all with a newborn (you just wing that shit and if you’re both still alive at the end of the day that’s cause for celebration yo!).

Initially as is my nature I read the crap out of books, articles, scientific journals and online forums to be certain I was doing the exact right combination of Things To Grow A Human. After a few weeks (as is also my nature, hello third attempt at university 2015) I threw in the towel and decided I’d play it by ear because what right for one person is abhorrent to another – case in point: cry-it-out (that’s CIO on the forums, savvy?).

ALL I want is for Leaf to reach old age happy and healthy.
But also kind, conscientious, smart, independent, self aware, confident, polite, determined, and brave.

So I let her run around naked. She’s dirty more often than not. She knows what dirt and sand taste like. She swims around in the pool with floaty rings on her arms unassisted (but supervised. Der). She rolls around on the floor with the dog and fights over a chew toy. Sometimes she has a bit of froth from my latte. She says hello and goodbye and blows kisses to whoever she pleases. She has bruises and scratches of unknown origin. Jams her fingers in doors and cupboards. She eats chocolate, fruit fruit fruit, barely any meat, wipes her own mouth and nose, eats on a rug on the floor, watches tv.

I’d rather worry about the happy and healthy things than 4.6 minutes of screen time and sustainable organic wooden age appropriate toys and a perfectly balanced diet.

Hope that’s cool with you, Leaf. Quick, Bing Bunny is on.

-b

Monday(ne)

I haaaaate when people are condescending, or patronising. Or tossers.

Early 20’s retail girl: I’m not your babe, love, darl, sweetie, gorge or hun. IM NOBODYS THOSE THINGS but I’m especially not yours.

Aspiring bloggers: framing every piece like you’re Carrie and New York is holding its collective breath is such a snore I could just die. “I’m here to tell you,” that your prose lacks depth and originality.

Parents of children older than leaf: I get it. You are winning the eternal race of time and therefore your experience is far more valid and well informed. Rub my face in it yo, lets solidify my derision.

Real estate agent: I am aware that the owner of the house we rent will be unwilling to pay for our broadband. I am aware you take great, lengthy, and superior pleasure in informing me. I am also aware that the words that came out of my mouth were not “when will they start paying my bills?” But rather, “are you able to find out when the telephone outlet was last active.”

Bambi: you’re far too conceited for your own good, and your previously harmless self destructive behaviour that is a product of a lack of mental stimulation is turning outward in an unnecessarily aggressive fashion. Get over yourself.

-b

monday(ne)

This restricted internet caper is pure rubbish.

My phone is dead.

Cant get landline broadband here.

Prepaid broadband is RIDICULOUSLY expensive for so little data.

Real estate agent is so slack I can’t even find the correct expletives to use.

The hospitality industry is a cruel mistress to be tied to.

No community run playgroup and I know a grand total of zero young hot thangs with children of their own that we can meet up with at the beach whilst I sit in the shade in my oversized tee so I don’t burn my sallow skin or reveal the jelly belly I’m sporting.

Incidentally, am I the only person who finds it perversely false to declare anyone wearing clothes of any nature are “rocking” whichever rag they’re in? I digress.

No playgroup = no playmates for leaf. I dont want to leave her with strangers at daycare, but mayhaps it would be beneficial?

#firstworldproblems.

-b