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The sad little lunatic begins…

Originally a phrase from The Vicar of Dibley, I often feel this a particularly appropriate term for myself these days. As a relatively new Mummy, baby brain has well and truly taken over and given the thoughts most often occupying my brain, lunacy is never far away. I knew having a baby would be a life changing experience, but one wonders if the definition of insanity has something to do with being able to remember and describe my four month old daughter’s last bowel movement with incredible accuracy, yet being unable to remember the last time I washed my hair, or just about anything else non baby related to be honest…. Even as I type now she is precariously balanced on my left arm, and I am trying not only to stop her falling but also to convince her that this word document is just as interesting as the brightly coloured computer game she was watching earlier. Sounds like great parenting, that does. Well, sometimes in the 15 or so straight hours of baby awake time I need a little release – that, and it’s hard to think of quality baby entertainment for such a long stretch. Mind you, today I was lucky. We have just awoken from a two hour sleep. I say we, because on the rare occasion that the baby actually decides to sleep during the day, it is on the condition that I sleep right beside her. We both needed it, although fuzzy-brained as I am I often think I need it more. See, if I have her in bed before 11pm, it’s truly a miracle. It’s not that I don’t try either, but there’s something about her Mummy’s arms that makes her cot thoroughly detestable. I completely empathise – why would you want to go to bed when you can be warmly cuddled less than an inch from the food supply you utterly adore? As a result, however, 99% of the time I am conscious, she is too, and this therefore results in her sometimes looking at the computer screen along with me.

… I return to my typing. The last paragraph made me so guilty about not devoting enough time to my daughter that I gave her both of my hands. Now I have dribble on the keyboard, but she is happy and feeding quietly, which is what my life is all about now, so I too am happy.

… Ah, wonderful. Her father just came home from work and was delighted by how happy his daughter was to see him. I always told him that he would enjoy her company long before she could walk and talk and I think finally he believes me - particularly given her latest skill, blowing raspberries, which she is now doing on my neck, having perfected this art yesterday despite the trauma of her four month injections in the morning. I am so glad that her father is enjoying each new milestone along with me, as it bodes well for the dreaded time in about six weeks when I’m going to have to leave them alone. Together. For about four hours. Oh. God. The problem is this. You see, given family history, I never thought I would be able to breastfeed, but much to my surprise and delight, I can. No bottles/waiting/mixing/warming/washing/sterilising etc. HOORAY! However, on the odd occasion I want to go out, little miss has to come with me, as she does not like the formula I bought her as a backup for such occasions, and I do not express (I didn’t want to lash out and spend the $$ buying a pump - and still don’t - given that I will probably rarely use it.)

Now, up until now, this has not been a problem, as I’ve managed to find ways to avoid separation from my little angel. She even accompanied Mummy and Daddy to British comedian Bill Bailey’s performance, which I might add pushed my lunacy a little further, as while we enjoyed ourselves thoroughly and she was intrigued by the colourful lights and music emanating from the stage, it was so unexpectedly loud that we feared for weeks we may have damaged her hearing. She’s fine, but his performance ensured that I have at no point entertained the possibility of taking her to the Billy Joel concert with my mother and I, which is now occurring in six weeks time, and which I am 50/50 looking forward to/dreading given the “bedtime” situation. You would think we would just put her to bed earlier. Yes, well, my daughter will tell you loud and clear what she thinks about that idea. Then after she has sent her verbal diarrhoea in your general direction, you will pick her up and carry on with your evening together. I have therefore for the past week been compiling a list of things that my partner can do to entertain our little munchkin, as he is a little scared (as I am) that if she suddenly decides enough is enough, he will not be able to just “shove a booby in her mouth” as I do.

So the list continues…. There’s the obvious things like using her “furniture” (vibrating chair, jolly jumper & dance mat, ocean activity centre) to occupy her. Then there’s singing/dancing/talking/pulling faces/making silly noises/making her toys talk etc… all of which may work depending on her mood. Then there’s food. Booby is out of the question for obvious reasons, so just yesterday we bought some tins of food so that she has six weeks to adjust. She’ll still have her milk during the day and last thing before bed of course, but if I can just get her used to other food for dinner in the evening it will buy her Daddy some more time, particularly if he gives her veggies, then plays, then gives her pureed fruit for dessert. Hopefully once that is done I’ll be almost home. That should work. I hope you’re convinced because I’m not. I’m still contemplating having him come and entertain her in the foyer so I can feed her at interval. If there is one. What if there isn’t one? Oh God. You see why I have become a sad little lunatic? My only consolation is that I’m sure I’m not the only mother in this situation…