"I'll go grocery shopping!" I thought, thinking of meals to cook and items we need.
"The baby and I can go to the mall," I mused, imagining me pushing the stroller while brushing at soft clothes hanging on racks.
"Maybe not the mall, maybe the town museum!" My mind switched to a scene of me holding the baby and brilliantly discussing preservation with the curator, who would offer me a part-time job.
Guess what we're going to do: Probably a whole lot of nothing!
The first time Emmie went down for a nap, I used my independence to take a shower. Before I could finish slathering my freshly washed face with moisturizer, she was up again.
After I fed her, we went downstairs to eat an early lunch - to get a head start on the day. I fixed my grilled cheese as she swung her feet in her highchair, munching on a wafer. So far so good!
I put her in her exersaucer so I could wash dishes. That contraption has been a lifesaver for the past few months. If you are unfamiliar, let me explain. An exersaucer is a giant frisbee on the bottom, which is attached to a donut-shaped area topped with toys. In the middle of the donut hole is a cloth bucket seat. You drop the baby in the leg holes, and the baby can "stand" and play with all the toys around her. The frisbee on the bottom keeps her from tipping over. The donut around her keeps her upright. The idea is to exercise the muscles associated with standing. I love it because she is safe and can't go anywhere.
Emmie is 8 months now and all she wants to do is pull herself up on stuff. She wants to crawl and explore. She wants to play with everything she's not supposed to. She does NOT want to be held back by the wretched exersaucer! Hell no, she won't go! Give her liberty or give her - well, she'll throw a tantrum, anyway.
I wanted to wash my dishes. I hate to leave them in the sink for my in-laws to see. The last thing I want them to think is that I am a lazy slob. Emmie was getting fussy in the highchair, so I put her in the exersaucer. Then came the screams.
We spend most days mainly upstairs, which has been babyproofed. The downstairs has not. I don't know, it just seems too overwhelming to try and babyproof a house that has been lived in for twenty years and never had a baby in it. I feel like we'd be turning my in-laws upside down. Everything would have to change, and that's a lot to ask of them.
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| Dog bowls, cords & appliances |
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| More cords, slots in which to stick little hands |
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| Door to the basement kept open for cats to get to litter box, breakables in low places |
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| More breakables down below |
So when the baby started to scream, I abandoned the dishes. We went upstairs, but she was too worked up and wouldn't calm down. After some time I put her in her crib and went back downstairs to finish my task, her tortured wails tormenting me all along. Eventually she fell asleep. Soon I'll have to pick up Bruce from work. All my plans have vanished.
I wish I could have washed the dishes with the baby playing at my feet. But I can't put her down, she crawls too fast now and there's too much trouble she could get into. When we do get a house, Bruce and I could babyproof it and do chores galore. Hello, multitasking!
What breaks my heart is the reality that by the time we get our own house, we my not need to babyproof. By then, Emmie might not be a baby anymore.
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