So, Izzy is now 8 months old, where has the time gone? She is crawling, has two teeth and is so busy she cannot keep still. My mom tells me that her busy-ness is thanks to me, seems I too had ants in my pants as a child.
But I must say I am really enjoying her. She is still hard work and sometimes I feel like it is too much. Then she does something dorky, because that’s another thing she gets from me, and you remember why you can do it. Her antics include laughing at her own jokes, making farts louder than her father, finding the weirdest stuff amusing, she loves to make disgusting noises with the copious amounts of drool she mass produces and she is obsessed with our two dogs and their constantly wagging tails.
And while she is an adorable little clown, she is still often a massive pain in the arse. This is evident in a range of activities: Her absolute determination to electrocute herself by putting her figures in the plug points (I can recommend the plug covers from Dischem, they are only 30 bucks for a whole bunch – no I was not paid to say that, unless they are willing to pay in which case…), to her love/hate relationship with food which she tactfully communicates by kung-fu-ing the spoon away send pureed hake, sweet potato and cheese flying in all directions (thank the pope for washable wall paint and tiled floors) and her hatred of being strapped into anything, especially the car seat, demonstrated by kicking and screaming (LITERALLY). My mature response is to turn Human by Rag & Bones Man way up and belt it out.
Lastly, I have saved the best for last. She hates being changed, always has (both nappy and clothes changes – hates it) and her retribution is cruel and vicious. I am 5 foot 6-ish and not small in the bust department (and post pregnancy my boobs have decided to migrate a little south). As luck would have it when she is on her compactum she is exactly the right height, that when she protests her abuse she is able to kick me straight in the boobs. And I am not referring to one or two swats with her tiny little feet, it is a volley of kicks as if they were a punching bag. It’s super cute. Insert sigh of love here.
Hilariously, despite all of this, I still cling to the belief that raising a child is like the fairytale that many books, movies, and Facebook show it to be. My darling’s favourite pastime is to take out her bazooka and blow that fantasy away.
We went to the zoo the other day, myself, hubby, sister-in-law, her two littlies and of course Izzy. I had this vision of us skipping around the zoo while Izzy happily sits in her pram cooing over the animals, rounding a wonderful day up with a picknick on the grass.
Wake up, mom.
Unbeknownst to us, the same day we decided to plan an idyllic family outing, Izzy had different plans. Her plan involved a tooth cutting through her bottom gum. Which understandably caused a great deal of pain and grouchiness. One of her protest actions was to refuse sleep – so from 5 am to 1 pm sleep was a fanciful notion. Her other form of protest was physical torture. Izzy decided she would be carried, the pram would remain empty for the entire duration of our time at the zoo. So between my husband and I, we carried our squirming and jabbering 8.5kg treasure up and down the hill from enclosure to enclosure for four hours. To our credit, many others (those who have half a brain cell) would have given up and gone home, not us, we were determined to have the idyllic family outing that we had planned. No amount of screaming (her) sweating (us), arm aching (us) or hair pulling (both) was going to deter us.
Eventually, we left at 1 pm after having been there since 9 am, we high-fived as we got into the car and congratulated ourselves on our success. What fun, a day at the zoo! Never would you hear us say out loud anything to the contrary, that actually we would rather have spent our precious Sunday driving spikes under our fingernails.
I have so many examples to choose from where I have deluded myself into thinking this fantasy world exists. Another good one, was when she was 6 weeks old (please see the previous blog post in order to understand the horror that was Izzy’s first 12 weeks of life), I decided to sign up for baby massage. I had always planned (there is that word again, so silly) on going. I had a vision of this class of moms all sitting around bonding with their babies, sharing loving tales of cuteness and drinking cups of tea. These moms and I as well as our adorable brood would grow to become best of friends. Luckily, I have made a great friend thanks to baby massage, but this and the tea were the only part of the dream that came true. In the four weeks of baby massage and subsequent 6 weeks of BabyGym, so a total of 10 classes, I probably managed to fully participate in 3. Baby massage for Izzy and I entailed bouncing on the dreaded pilates ball (the story of my hatred of these balls will have to wait for another blog post) while she screamed, watching the other moms’ enjoy QT with their babas. The tea and biscuits at the end were awesome though because either Izzy had fallen asleep in my arms or Joanne, the lovely lady who ran the class would take Izzy away from me so I could enjoy my tea and EET-SUM-MOR.
The worst part, even worse than bouncing on the damn ball, was watching the other babies in the class lie peacefully and enjoy the time spent interacting with their mommies. Did I really just pay hard earned cash to watch other moms and their precious little angels? Further highlighting how far from that Izzy and I were. That being said, I still highly recommend these types of activities as they definitely helped me with my bonding issues and they act as a support group when times are tough.
So, to sum up, this whole baby thing is no fantasy, dreams do not come true but nightmares do. Nonetheless, what I have learnt is that you can’t hold your breath waiting for those fairytale moments (chances are you’ll pass out long before), the only way to survive is to find the funny in everything, see and celebrate the small wins and, lastly, accept that your tiny tot has their own plans, regardless of whatever you have dreamt up for them.
Remember, don’t take it personally and you can always get them back when they are older.