I have birthed the most active child in the history of the human race. For eleven years I wished husband was just that little bit more affectionate. Well the universe decided to play a humdinger of a joke on me and gave me a son WHO WILL NOT LEAVE ME ALONE. I love the cuddles I really do, but come on kid, stop kicking mummy for two seconds so I can down this double espresso, will you?
When I was pregnant it was spectacular, lots of kicks and wriggles letting me know he was there. The little bugger knew when I wanted to sleep, but it was comforting to know he was okay.
From the second he was born we knew we had our hands full. He won’t stop moving. He twitches and wriggles and squirms constantly. He now wants to be on the floor, then he wants to be sat up, then he wants to be held, then he wants to climb. Now he wants to drag himself like a squealing, chubby, happy, zombie across the floor so he can stroke the rug and giggle like an idiot.
He does acrobatics in his sleep, tries to roll over in the bath, in his pram, in his high chair. His latest trick is to go pin straight while I carry him so he almost slips through my arms.
I’m battered and bruised from his River Dance rehearsals on my thighs. Even my hideous mask-induced-postpartum-chin-acne has felt the wrath of his vicious little claws. No honey I’m not hiding anything in my nose, okay, now please stop fingering my eye.
I know it’s sweet and funny and a blessing but when he refuses sleep for five or six hours at a time then has the absolute screaming ab-dabs because he’s overtired and wants to sleep across my shoulders like a cat, it’s no fudging fun.
I had a brief glimpse into my future today, I’m hidden behind the sofa, dressed in tactical gear. Armed with a giant butterfly net and a tranquilliser gun. There’s a scurry of tiny feet, a menacing giggle. Something breaks in the distance (please don’t be my last good vase!!) and then I can feel it, the warm, slightly soggy hand of my toddler, here to climb all over mummy.
I ache, even the joints in my toes hurt. I’m a self proclaimed sedentary being, my spirit animal is a three toed sloth. How have I ended up with the Tasmanian Devil as an offspring?!
So after a 6 hour wake window, four rounds of wake ups and four hours of going in and out trying to lull him into submission this mummy is crawling into bed... once I’ve washed bottles.... and sorted laundry... and put fresh sheets on the bed.
Perhaps it’s time I take that tranquilliser gun and just give myself a lovely nap. As a treat.
*Sigh*