At one point last night, I tried to have her sit with her daddy but it was close to bedtime and she gets extra clingy to me when she’s tired. I get it, I do; but, I know the husband wants his time with her, too. I will admit- it felt good for her to reach for me and whine “Mama” as I tried to hand her off to daddy. And I scooped her up and held her tight, too. Because, again, I know this won’t last forever. And I truly want to bathe in it right now… the hugs, the snuggles, the looks, the smiles, the laughter, the trust, the love, the need, the want.
But, I still have my moments when I get… annoyed.
Like this morning, for example. Lovie woke me about 10 minutes before my alarm did (set for 445- ugh) with her crying. I rolled my eyes as I got out of bed and made my way into her bedroom in the pitch black. I felt around the shelf where we keep her stash of binkies and felt none so I had to turn the light on and there she lay in the shape of an L, in the center of her crib, binky in mouth, crying despite her mouth being plugged. Sigh. I knew nothing but being held, being with me or her dad, would console her yet I ignored this fact and instead shhhushed her, stroked her head, softly told her it would be OK, turned off the light, turned on her Seahorse, and left the room. She immediately cried out but quieted down after a second. I creeped in to the shower, pretty much knowing she’d get pissed pretty quickly.
I got out of the shower and, sure enough, I could hear her screaming. Loudly. I opened the bathroom door so that the light would tell her she wasn’t alone, and tried drying my hair as quickly as possible. The screaming just escalated so I finally turned on her light and there she stood, binky now on the floor, grandma bear in hand, snot puddle to her chin, tears streaming down her face. My poor sweet baby doll with the mean momma.
I scooped her out of the crib and held her and she clung to me like, you guessed it, Velcro. My left arm acted as a seat to her butt as my right hand rubbed her head that lay atop my shoulder. My sweet baby doll is getting so big.
I rocked back and forth humming a song I made up to the tune of a Christmas song and she just whimpered and continued to cling to me. My poor sweet baby doll.
After several minutes, I had to get her changed for the day and she was pissed when I peeled her off of me… PISSED. Sigh.
I changed her as quickly as I could (while she screamed and cried and wiggled around), grabbed her (while she screamed and cried and wiggled around), grabbed a bottle and brought her (still screaming and crying) into the bedroom where the husband was sleeping.
“Don’t throw the baby,” he quickly said. Yeah, fuck you, too. Because throwing babies is something I do every other day. I fucking hate his stupid ass comments sometimes. (Let me just say that prior to having Lovie, he has voiced his “concern” on multiple occasions about what kind of mother I would be- commenting how I would scare our kid with my anger. Not at all kidding, not at all exaggerating. He has yet to fucking apologize for all that shit but whatever; Lovie is living proof that he can fucking suck it.)
I placed her next to him where she hysterically screamed, handed him the bottle, and left the room. Before I even closed the door, I heard … silence. Clearly Lovie was sucking down some milk.
When I got in to the bathroom to finish getting ready, I turned on the fan to drown out the cries that would ensue as soon as the bottle was drained. Let him get his fucking ass out of bed for once and get a binky. And he did just this. Heh.
When I got back in to the room to get dressed, Lovie sat there looking at me with those big brown eyes with caramel swirling throughout, sucking on a binky. I was so pissed from the screaming, from the husband’s comment that I tried not smiling but… LOOK AT THAT FACE.
I finally made my way to the bed to get my shoes on and she immediately scooted over to me, nomming on the binky and dragging her grandmabear, and put her head on my leg. I instantly welled up. She just wanted her Mama to hold her (and some milk and a binky and Sesame Street doesn’t hurt either!).
I rubbed her head as she lay on me and she kept creeping her way closer and closer to me until she was in my arms and I was holding her- stuck together like… VELCRO.
Thank God for Velcro.