Baby Rediscovers Mother’s Breasts, Beats Them Like a Pair of Bongos
My daughter has rediscovered my wife's boobs. My wife stopped breastfeeding when Baby J. was around 9 months old; it had become impossible to keep her still long enough. She didn't like to be held while drinking milk, she likes to be standing up, which works when you have a bottle, not a boob. So that being the case, the baby kind of forgot about the boobs; she wasn't interested in them.
However, recently, it's like she just found them for the first time. She likes to stick her hands right down my wife's shirt and grab her boobs. She likes to grab the nipples. And her absolute favorite thing is just to go to town on the boobs, slapping them with her fists. As you might imagine, my wife doesn't enjoy any of these activities. But we have found it is impossible to explain to a child that doesn't understand most of the English language yet and who herself does not have boobs just how uncomfortable and painful it is to have your nipples twisted and your boobs slapped like they're drums.
Oh well, it's all a phase, right?
D.
Why’d I have to grow up?
I wish I was a baby again. How nice is that? Everything is new. Everything is there to explore. Except for the inability to explain yourself intelligibly, it's a sweet life. No job. No responsibilities. Can walk around in your pajamas all day. Everyone brings you your meals. You're given a bath every night. When you cry and complain, people actually care and listen.
It's not like when you're an adult. When I cry and complain, people tell me to get over myself. I don't get to play with toys anymore. Instead, I get to pay bills every day. I don't get to run outside in the snow. Instead, I get to shovel it. I don't get to have playdates. Instead, I see an old friend, and we spend most of the time complaining about our jobs.
If people would just once get up and clap and give me a big hug because my huge accomplishment for the day was managing to walk across the kitchen floor unassisted, I'd be in heaven.
D.
Que Sera Sera
Baby J. Plays Piano With Her Foot
Since I work during the day, I try to spend as much time as I can with Baby J. in the evenings. After my wife and I give her a bath, dress her in her pajamas, read her a bedtime story and give her a bottle, I'm usually the one who puts her to sleep for the night. When Baby J. was younger, I used to use all of the common methods for getting a baby to sleep: swaddling them, rocking them while they lay on their side, shushing them quietly. Now that she's older, I sing to her. I sing a lot of different songs, especially Beatles songs (I love the Beatles) like "In My Life", "Blackbird", "Across the Universe". I also sing a couple songs I made up. But tonight, I sang to her "Que Sera, Sera".
Que Sera, Sera,
Whatever will be, will be
The future's not ours, to see
Que Sera, Sera
What will be, will be.
I can't help but think about my baby's future. It's true, "whatever will be, will be." But I can't help but wonder. Will she take after mommy or daddy? Or will she be her own completely different person? I wonder what she'll look like when she's older. I wonder if she'll like school, or if she'll count down the seconds until the closing bell like I used to. I wonder if she'll be a bookworm like her mom and me. I wonder if she'll like sports, if she'll be running everywhere. I wonder if she'll be picked on, if she'll be one of the popular kids, if she'll have best friends forever. I wonder how sad I'll be to see her growing up, if it'll secretly break my heart when she graduates school, when she moves out, when she faces the world without me. I wonder how I'll handle her not being there every morning when I wake up. I wonder how hard it is on all of us to watch our babies grow up.
Before Baby J. was ever born, I always heard people say, "Enjoy this time because they grow up so fast." It's advice I don't think I ever needed. There's not a day goes by that I don't want to be near her, experience every little joy and sadness with her. I think in a way it's like having a time machine and being able to watch ourselves grow up, except this time around, we really appreciate all the little things. We don't take anything for granted like we did the first go around.
D.
Home from the Hospital
Baby J. and I in the Hospital
I started thinking about our trip home from the hospital, after Baby J. was born. It was probably the second most terrifying experience I've had as a driver (the first would be a time I had to take Baby J. in for a check up, and we were experiencing heavy snow and high winds). It was also a crazy experience. My wife and I both realized that Baby J. was our baby, but to think the hospital was actually going to let us drive away with her? The idea was absurd. How could medical professionals actually entrust us with the safety of a baby? What were they thinking? Sure, we'd read all the books. We'd studied up on everything there is to read about babies. We received all the advice we could have ever wanted from a hundred different people. But that's hardly preparation for having a baby. Shouldn't I have needed a medical license of some kind? At least a PhD., right?
And yet, there we were, driving away from the hospital at a brisk 15mph (I didn't want to go too fast until we were in a less trafficked area), my heart racing like I'd just run a 5k, glancing every 1.3 seconds into the rear view mirror to make absolutely, positively sure that my 3 day old daughter was still in the car. She was there all right, snug in a giant pink winter coat, sleeping soundly, while my wife sat next to her, probably sharing a lot of my thoughts.
Boober in Her Pink Coat
I know everyone goes through this, but that was the day I stopped feeling like I was 12 years old. Ever since my twelfth birthday, I haven't really felt like I've grown up. Sure, I kept getting bigger. I moved out of my mom's home. I got married. Started a career. But none of that ever felt real. It was always like I was still a little kid playing house with my cousin at my grandmother's, like all the cooking, and going to work every day, and paying the bills was make believe, as if at any moment, I could close my eyes and then upon reopening them, I'd be back home with my backpack and a bag lunch about to stand outside and wait for the school bus to come.
But that all changed when Baby J. arrived. Watching her delivery, holding her for the first time, falling instantly in love with the most precious thing I'd ever seen, like the grinch, my heart suddenly grew three sizes that day, until I was barely able to contain it within my chest. She was my boober, a tiny little, 7lb. 7oz really wonderful responsibility that made me realize I could never go back home again, and more so, it made me realize I'd never want to, because for as long as I live, Baby J. is my home.
D.
