Monday, July 28, 2008

Calm before the storm...?

Things have been a teetch odd recently, mainly in that they haven't been odd. Qua? Never fear, I will 'splain.
It seems that I have somehow managed to develop something of a routine in my day to day - a routine that includes the existence of the Infant. Having a baby around the house, at some point in the past couple of weeks, became NORMAL. Which in and of itself is abnormal ("Abby? Abby who?"). The occasions when I look over, see The Infant, and go 'oh RIGHT! We have a spawn!' are decreasing down to just about zero.
Now for those without children, this would seem to be normal and good - this settling in. In most circumstances, you figure something out, learn how it works, develop a way to work with it, then set things on cruise control. Here cruise control (or any form of control really) is merely a laughable illusion. I freely admit that I have learned very little in the short time I've been Infant-rearing, but one of the precious few things I've learned is NEVER let your guard down.
Raising a child is like living in Oz (HBO, not Baum, version) only with sharp little baby fingernails instead of shivs. JUUUUUST when you think you've got things figured out there's a riot or the mob tries to take over the lunch room or your child figures out how to roll over, the latter being the scariest by far. I can speak from experience (on 2 of the 3 anyway).
That's right, the Infant has figured out how to flip from belly to back (I'll save the riot story for later). Normally when one's child reaches certain milestones parental units are overcome with joy. Not so much here. Yes, we are well pleased in an abstract sense that our offspring is developing at a semi-normal clip. However, in a practical sense, this latest development is a source of stark terror for us. And it's not ALL developments - I wasn't concerned when, just a week ago The Infant discovered the fascinating appendages known as 'feet' - OOooo! AAaaah! - and begun spending a large portion of her day grabbing at, playing with and/or attempting to jam into her mouth said feet. This was cute, in a fetish-y kinda way. The rolling though - oh God the rolling.... this is terrifying.
But why, sez you? Because rolling is the very first 'step' (pun intended) in mobility. MOBILITY! Gah! See, this lovely routine we've managed to develop, while it sadly involves very little sleep, is one that has added some stability into our little parental lives. We're starting to get the hang of this! Said routine, however, is predicated on the Infant pretty much staying where you put her. Whether she wants to or not. This means we can say, lay The Infant on the middle of the bed while putting a shirt on without worrying about her scuttling off in the 2.3 seconds we take our hands/eyes off of her. This immobility is the lynch pin of our current day-to-day, and it's about to be removed, which will result in our little carefully crafted house of infant care cards crashing down about our ears. And possibly several loosely stacked boxes as well.
Which is the OTHER larger and more terrifying aspect of this looming mobility nightmare. We need to child proof the house. Typing that, my brain just froze. Overwhelming icy panic courses through my veins. Those of you who have been following this adventure since it began will recollect that I was rendered nearly immobile myself for a large chunk of my pregnancy. This had the ripple effect of the house falling totally into the crapper, organizationally-speaking. Add a thick layer of baby accessories and teeny tiny little clothes overtop of the original neglect of household layer and you get QUITE the caca cake. Caca which the Infant is >
And time is running out fast. She's got a pretty decent bead on the belly to back roll, mainly because she despises being on her tummy - hates the view I guess. It's just a matter of days before she figures out the back to belly bit and starts stringing them together in a twirling dervish of here to there-ish-ness. She's a freakishly strong little creature and it's coordination alone that's holding her back, not lack of strength, either in will or body.
Speaking of which, the strong will is starting to express itself as well. Already the Infant has begun expressing 'opinions' about things, in the form of a new vocalization that sounds remarkably like 'NNNYARK!'. While it is nice that her vocabulary is growing beyond impassioned wailing, the corresponding growth of what can only be called 'attitude' is a less promising development in the parent Infant communication timeline. Combine these strong opinions with the looming possibility of willful motion and you begin to get a sense of my dawning horror...
I'm trying to keep myself from asking the teachers at daycare to perhaps offer just a little less 'tummy time'. It would be moot anyway - all it would do is delay the inevitable. The Infant is slowly but surely developing the skills and ability to impress her ever-growing will on the surrounding environs, and we parents are included as viable will-targets. Forget the moving from here to there bits; attempts to take control of the lunch room are merely hours away.... God help us one and all...(where's a sharpened toothbrush when you need one?!)

1 comment:

BiblioDiva said...

I need to remember to save these posts and show them to your daughter when she's older.

I wonder if she'll find this to be funny when she's 16. Actually, when she's 16, she won't find anything to be funny.