I’ve decided, in the 22 days since I became a parent (how weird is that? Sounds so grown up and… Oh, who the hell am I kidding? I still have the personality of a petulant 12 year old, throwing a temper tantrum in the local shopping centre because Mum says they’re too old to visit Santa’s Grotto) that dummies and swing-seats are a lazy Mummy’s best friend…
When I say “lazy Mummy”, what I actually mean is “clingy baby” and when I say “best friend”, I actually mean “plug” (yes, you may now laugh at the hilarity of this joke).
Since baby’s 22 days old, she’s currently just getting over a very odd phase. Again, one of those phases that the lovely, middle aged women who loved to relive their birthing stories for me when I was up the duff (classy) forgot to mention (strike 2, ladies). It’s that of, I assume, realising that they’re no longer in the womb.
As funny as it is to watch my tiny baby flail about and jump in her sleep occasionally at all the space suddenly appearing around her (I do laugh because it is funny. Shoot me. I’m mean), it means that whenever she finishes feeding and moves over onto my lap (since breast milk is like some sort of drug I need to try sometime), she almost immediately starts whinging as if I’ve completely abandoned her… And, no matter how much I tell her, “no-one likes a grotty baby, baby!” she carries on until she gets what she wants – her rightful place on my chest.
As much as I absolutely love cuddles with my baby, it’s gone on so long this way that I have become a prisoner in my own armchair! I mean, it would be ok if it were an occasional thing, but she’s pinned to me from the moment we go downstairs of a morning until the moment we go to bed at night. I can’t even put her down to go to the toilet without her screaming the house down (although, she’s still cute when she’s angry)! My big moon-bum and jelly-belly will never go away at this rate.
If she’s still this way when she’s 18, we could have a problem.