Sunday 4th December 2016
As we approach your ninth month, I’m having a weird sort of reflection.
On the 11th of December, you will be nine months old.
We’ve passed the six month stage and it’s not as if it’s even your first birthday. Those are much more mega milestones.
For some reason I’m very nostalgic that you’ve been alive nine whole months.
Because that’s the amount of time you were inside my body.
Nine whole months – from egg to cell to foetus.
That’s the amount of time
And in that same amount of time out of my body, you’ve learnt how to feed.
How to differentiate night from day.
You’ve established a sleeping pattern.
You rolled over.
You’ve learnt to feed yourself finger food.
You’ve turned that roll into a crawl.
You sit up unaided.
You can even pull yourself up into a seating position.
You’ve even made attempts at scaling the furniture in prep to pull yourself up.
And just about the cutest – you chatter away in your little voice when you wake in a morning.
I love how you now play and interact with other children.
I love how you sit and entertain yourself with toys – and even watch TV. (Thanks – these latter skills are extremely helpful to your old mam – so she can fanny about on Facebook or you know – write posts like this.)
As we both laze about in our dressing gowns on this Sunday morning, you look so cute that I could die.
I’ve never considered myself maternal. I’ve admired babies from afar. The old give them a little cuddle. And then hand them back.
Like I’ve said previously, I’d been in no hurry to have a baby of my own.
Even despite a good pregnancy and birth, I’m in no hurry to have any more.
I openly admit I dislike the newborn stage. I selfishly hate the fact I put in so much (sleep-deprived) time and didn’t even get a smile in return.
It’s only human nature to want interaction – a smile, a cuddle.
Plus everyone tells you as a new mother to slow down. Enjoy it. Make the most of it. As time really does fly.
That’s not what my sleep-deprived self wanted to hear. In the fog of surviving on bouts of two-hour – sometimes even ninety-minutes – naps (as that can not logically be counted as sleep bah!) I thought this was my life.
No sleep and a tiny (and I mean tiny – the whole of five pounds) living, breathing, heart-beating human that relied so heavily on me.
Looking back, of course it went quick, and in nine whole months, it’s ridiculous how far we’ve all come.
And how much you’ve changed.
I type this while shouting ‘no’ for the umpteenth time as you crawl under the Christmas tree to pull the baubles off. Or crawl towards the TV cabinet. Or the stairs.
But most of all, you’ve become your own little person.
So content and happy.
It’s hard to believe that it’s been a year since I was constantly moaning at being the designated driver during the festive season.
If truth be told, I thought you’d ruin my life (sorry) and my body.
For fear of sounding corny or cliché, my life has more fulfilment. My former self would have slapped this self at writing such drivel. I’d read it all before and just thought blah another boring mam post.
Haha! I’ve become that boring mam!
A boring mam who now bleats on about her new-found sense of purpose. I love that I can be your role model. That you (annoyingly) touch (pull) my hair and my necklace. But I can’t wait til those are the things you want to talk about and play with.
And you’ve awoken a drive and determination in me that I never knew I had.
I’m actually healthier now than I was before I had you. Pregnancy taught me to eat well (aside from the slippery slope of Cadbury’s Easter Eggs towards the end). I ate a lot of green beans and boiled eggs – so much so that the midwives were in disbelief of my iron levels after I gave birth.
I don’t drink as much as I did beforehand. Obviously I still reward myself for keeping you alive with a glass of wine or two here and there. And on the rough days it’s a given.
But I don’t go out on benders every weekend
If I’m honest, I actually feel fitter and stronger since having you. And that’s something I never thought I would hear myself say.
I’ve not hidden the fact I’ve struggled being off work and looking after you constantly. But each passing week you’re getting more independent. Obviously we’re a long way off from the mainstream stuff like driving and moving out, but we’ve conquered a fair few stages already.
In just nine months.
But I’m finally taking the slow down advice this month. December is the perfect, snuggly time of year to wind-down anyway for Christmas. So we’re winding down together. Enjoying each other’s company in our dressing gowns a few days more than we really should.
In the beginning, I was forcing myself to be showered, dressed and made-up. Pressure I know. But I was worried that if I didn’t, I’d fall into a trap of never getting changed or leaving the house. I had to do that to save myself.
And because I did that, I’m happy in the fact that in less than a month now, I return to work. Where we’ll be up super early for nursery and family drop-offs. Life will be back to a million miles an hour that I’m used to.
We’ve gotten out of the last nine months exactly what we wanted from each other; you learning how to feed and entertain yourself, me learning more about myself than I have in my whole lifetime.
Now we’re both ready to face the big wide world. You have the excitement of nursery; learning more new things and making new friends. I get to go back to work to a new role where I too will have to learn new things and make new friends.
But we’re both well equipped. We’re happy, strong, determined ladies.
So we’ll spend a little longer lazing around this Sunday. As that’s what our Sunday’s will become. Our day of rest after our chaotic week back in the real world.
Your small life in this big wide world.
But that’s just it.
You are my big wide world.
In this small life.
Love Missuswolf xxx
Images from Unsplash and Pexel