Remember those? I studiously kept track of where Pequita was going through some developmental stage. The 'first child syndrome' to a T.
The book - which I still recommend - describes where Monito is like this:
-He may cling to your clothes
-He may want physical contact to be as close as possible
-He may be jealous
-He may be moody and sleep poorly
-He may lose his appetite
-He may be more babylike
-He may have tantrums
Oy vey. I've been dosing him with motrin in the off chance that he is sick, teething or otherwise fixable by medicine. No go. I have always said that the best thing about this book is that it gives me hope that it isn't a defect in the kid, and that the struggles we are going through are really productive and moving him forward. It still works. And joy of joys, I can be smug in that he is ahead of schedule for this developing. Don't let the zen look of mothers fool you - we all care when our kid does what. Early is always exciting, and late is a tad troubling until they catch up.
We have had a loooooooooooong few days. If I try to touch my computer, he starts crying and crawls, bawling with the now signature scream, to my feet, fumbles to a stand at my feet and clings to my leg while continuing his screamy protests. Joy, eh? When I emailed the post in this morning, I was enduring this while I did it. I have been holding him through the evenings as well, as he sleeps very fitfully and thrashes himself awake frequently. This means that I've been doing 24/7 touching of the boy for several weeks. I am tired of it, and looking forward to the graduation to a new plateau of peaceful non-development.
I was fighting tears and fighting yelling and trying to decide whether or not to take the kids to Homestead Mama's softball game tonight like usual even as I scurried to get the diaper bag packed and she was changing into her sporty clothes when I got a text message that the game was cancelled due to soggy fields. H-Mama was pleased, and sent me out for some time alone. I ran - RAN - out the door with the diaper bag, not even stopping to change out my wallet and cell phone into a purse that doesn't contain poopy diapers and enough tofu pups and blueberries to stave off hunger tantrums in two babies. I have no bra on, I have finger paint hand prints all over my legs and I'm wearing rubber Croc shoes. I am sitting right now outside the downtown Mexican fusion restaurant sipping a frozen mango margarita and blogging, something I've wanted to do for weeks. There is a live salsa-ish band playing loudly across the street with people dancing, loitering, bouncing their babies and enjoying the 78 degree summer night. As am I. I need to call the damn mother's helpers and babysitters whose numbers I have and get my personal life back. I know this. It is hard to leave the kids with other people now that they are older and have opinions. I thought it would be the other way around, but in the baby days it was much easier to maneuver support care.