If this jinxes it then I am sorry, but…it seems to be Spring. Real Spring. Like, average of 50 degrees (sometimes 85! Sometimes…40), at times darned rainy, but always with that smell of fresh(ish) air. And perhaps that scent coming from the neighbor’s yard. But whatever. I’ll take it.
This past week alone I took Nora outside in no less than five baby-totin’ contraptions: the Maya sling, the hip carrier (as in, on my hip- I have lost all hopes of being “hip.” Which may not even be a word anymore), the Snap n’ go stroller with the carseat, the Maclaren strolly…and straight up carrying her. Wild, I know.
She loves every single one of these ways of being held. Really. In the sling: “I love grabbing your hair and chewing on your collarbone!” The carrier: “I’m going to happily kick you in the belly and back simultaneously!” The Snap n’ go: “Look at you looking at me in the garage!” The Maclaren: “These big girl straps are fabulous- as long as we stay in the dining room!” And carrying: “Do not let my wild noodle/starfish amalgamation dance convince you that I am not THRILLED to be in your arms!”
Until…we go outside.
Then it’s the same pose, regardless of contraption: face against mine (if applicable), hands acting as blinders against the awful onslaught that is Fresh(ish) Air. If she’s in her stroller, she takes a blanket, animal, extra fabric from the suncover- whatever- and holds it to her face.
And this prompts some well-meaning person to “suggest” that Nora probably can’t breathe.
To which I reply that I’ll promise to keep an eye on her!
And on the topic of advice…in my short time as a mother and my lengthy time as one being unable to receive constructive criticism, I’ve realized that there are two types of acceptable advice. They are as follows:
Timely: “Oh my goodness, your child is floating away!” This is especially helpful if you didn’t know that your child was floating away.
and…
Jovial relating: “I remember that my son used to love floating away! Sometimes I tie him to the dock, though. Have you ever thought of that? Isn’t having children fun?” This is okay because it a) makes you feel like you’re not an awful parent and b) makes you feel like you’re in a secret club. Secret clubs are fun.
The type that is not okay is Talking At Someone And Refusing To Stop Until You Agree To Rear Your Child Identically To Theirs. For example, “My kid hated the water. I wouldn’t put yours in the water. Have you thought of having her tested for water allergies?” These people have Experience and they need to be stopped. This type of advice-giver Means Well and belongs to the club of That’s Not How We Did It In My Day.
Which is quite possibly true.
But a long time ago people used iodine as suntan oil and sold women as property. These were not the same two time periods, but I think I’ve made my point.
I think it’s safe to assume that if the mother-like person is nearish to the small, babylike person and- (and this is a big ‘and’)- the child is not aflame, submerged or has something poking in or out of them, we can all rest assured that the semi-competent adult is On It.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to make sure that my stomach-sleepin’, binky-mashin’ infant hasn’t wrapped her blanket around her head.
But not before I eat three more of the Easter cheoreg biscuits- the recipe for which has been passed down from my Armenian nana…and tastes more like my Irish nana’s soda bread. I am not the world’s best baker- I admit this. However, they are tasty, they are sweet, they are portable.
Victory.
And maybe perhaps I’ll snag some more of Nora’s Easter candy. She loves the coconut Hershey’s kisses and Reese’s mini cups. She does.
But not as much as her parents love playing Easter Bunny. Just as good as playing Santa, in my opinion. Cannot wait to try out “Tooth Fairy.”
But, I really can. I’m enjoying the heck out of my five month-old daughter’s daily routine and am not gonna rush this aging process AT ALL. Although, it’ll be nice when she can hold the beer bottle on her own.
My arms get tired by the end of the day.
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