"Lady, will you do something about your baby?"
This is what Dada says to me a lot these days. Turns out Jacob is not such a mellow fellow after all. Maybe he's teething. Maybe he's hiding some sand from the beach in one of his many folds. Maybe he's mourning Nick and Jessica's divorce. What we do know is this: Jacob's turning into a grumpy fussball, and we are certainly not permitted by His Royal Fussiness to understand why. All we are allowed to understand is that he must at all times be held by, or at least be in the presence of, his mommy.
Once upon a time, there was a happy Jakester. This Jacob would play happily in his exersaucer for the 20 minutes it would take me to take a shower, or sit in his bouncer, contented to coo at his various dangly critters, while I loaded the dishwasher. I do not lie. I have photographic proof that, but two weeks ago, this was he:
To say it is driving me insane is a little late in the coming. HOOO-HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! I think if I could just put him down for a second and have him be a happy man I would still be on my proverbial rocker. But I can't. You should see my kitchen sink/clothes hampers/bathroom fixtures/floors as they collect mounds of dishes/stinky towels/mildew/tumbleweed-like balls of cat hair. If I wish to do my chores, I must endure Jacob's fussing, so I choose to let the house go to pot. I won't even start on the whole showering thing -- let's just say I'm on the every-other-day plan, and that's when I get Daddy assistance. And as if one wouldn't get tired enough from listening to one's baby fuss most of the day, please let us not forget that Jacob now weighs twenty pounds. Twenty wriggly pounds.
The real problem hits when I have to unearth the coffee maker from under Mt. Dishmore, and I realize CPS will come and take my feral baby away if I don't clean something. And so back and forth we go. You must choose -- endure a screaming baby, or endure a filthy mud hut of a house?
Once upon a time, there was a happy Jakester. This Jacob would play happily in his exersaucer for the 20 minutes it would take me to take a shower, or sit in his bouncer, contented to coo at his various dangly critters, while I loaded the dishwasher. I do not lie. I have photographic proof that, but two weeks ago, this was he:
To say it is driving me insane is a little late in the coming. HOOO-HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! I think if I could just put him down for a second and have him be a happy man I would still be on my proverbial rocker. But I can't. You should see my kitchen sink/clothes hampers/bathroom fixtures/floors as they collect mounds of dishes/stinky towels/mildew/tumbleweed-like balls of cat hair. If I wish to do my chores, I must endure Jacob's fussing, so I choose to let the house go to pot. I won't even start on the whole showering thing -- let's just say I'm on the every-other-day plan, and that's when I get Daddy assistance. And as if one wouldn't get tired enough from listening to one's baby fuss most of the day, please let us not forget that Jacob now weighs twenty pounds. Twenty wriggly pounds.
The real problem hits when I have to unearth the coffee maker from under Mt. Dishmore, and I realize CPS will come and take my feral baby away if I don't clean something. And so back and forth we go. You must choose -- endure a screaming baby, or endure a filthy mud hut of a house?
posted by Claire at 10:14 PM
4 Comments:
Have you considered using a baby sling? We both used them with all four of our kids with great success. They are amazingly versatile and the keep the little one hapy and out of the way while freeing BOTH your hands for doing what needs done. I think these things honestly saved my sanity on an occasion or two (or ten thousand).
Oh, we have the Bjorn, and sometimes that works. But the problem with that is that Jacob is simply getting too heavy to carry. I can keep him in the Bjorn for about 20 minutes before my shoulders start to cave in. I realize slings operate with a slightly different load-bearing structure, but still. 20 lbs is 20 lbs, no matter how you carry it.
I don't get it. You have a husband, right? Even if the baby insists on being held by his mommy, the daddy, meanwhile, can do some household chores. Twenty to thirty minutes is not much to ask.
HA! Oh, anonymous. While usually my whip would be a-crackin', Dada is currently busying himself being Mr. Fix-It around our fixer-upper, and is usually covered in fertilizer/grout/paint dust/insert noxious chemical substance here. So that's out. Sigh.
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