Baby G is starting to crawl.
Not up on his hands and knees yet, but he’s moving forward. In lurches, lunges, rolls, and wriggles. The siren song of age-inappropriate toys and other kids’ block towers is strong, and he’s tired of being left behind. So, he creeps. He gets under the furniture and hits his head and drools everywhere.
It’s cute, and also exciting, because the early part of babyhood is not my favourite time and never has been, so I’m tickled that it’s coming to an end.
What’s neither cute nor exciting however is that since the creeping started, the sleeping has STOPPED. Oh, I miss my baby with the predictable and reliable sleep schedule. Used to be I’d bath him around 6PM; pajamas / nurse / lullaby; then put him down awake, he’d fuss for a couple of minutes and then sleep until 10 or even 11. Up maybe twice more to eat through the night, but always back to sleep easily, the end.
Now, he is exhausted at 5:30. So, I nurse him and he promptly falls asleep. I put him to bed asleep (yes, I know, bad habit to get into but when I say “asleep” what I really mean is “comatose”) and tiptoe away. Half an hour later he wakes up MAD and then fusses until 7pm. Or 730pm. Or whenever. He can’t put himself to sleep anymore, because as soon as he hits the crib he gets up on his hands and knees and rocks back and forth. Wailing because it doesn’t propel him forward. Sobbing because he’s so. tired. but can’t make himself stop.
Last night I swaddled his legs and that worked. Mercifully. It’s hot for swaddles but we do what needs to be done.
He’s also eating solids now. All the solids. Boy loves his food. So far he’s had oatmeal, blueberries, strawberries, guacamole, toast, spaghetti, eggs, mashed potatoes, baked sweet potato fries, fish, and probably some other stuff I can’t remember right now. I’m pretty much letting him eat what we eat, just smushed up a bit. It’s a damn sight easier than making purees and freezing them in ice cube trays – a chore I heartily detested with Harry- and cheaper / less guilt-inducing than existing on jarred baby food, something I did with Ron but never really felt good about. And I do not miss mixing up bowls of baby cereal. Or chiseling it off the high chair after it has dried and become like cement.
Baby G is a lucky one, because summer is a great time to be learning about food. There are so many delicious things, fresh and available and not terribly expensive, that I’m afraid once winter gets here he’ll be terribly disappointed (“squash AGAIN, mother?”)
The unfortunate “let’s bite mama’s bewbs with our new teeth” episode seems to have ended, just as I was getting ready to dump his sorry ass on the floor if he chomped down just one. more. time.
The first year is tough. Baby G is an uncommonly good baby so I try not to complain too much – but he is still a baby, which means a lot of exhausting hands-on effort from mama while still looking after the toddler brigade and my own two older boys. Sometimes I feel like I’m kicking all kinds of ass. Other times I feel like I’m spreading myself too thin, cutting myself into too many pieces. But I’m making it. And sometimes, like this past long weekend, I’m doing nothing but having fun with my boys.