It's 6am on the dot, and I groggily stumble into my already awake daughter's room to give her her morning bottle. I turn on her lamp and am greeted by a completely sideways baby kicking her legs furiously (we call these her "thomps") and blinking to adjust to the light. Then the mischievous grin shows up. I pick her up and carry her to our chair, and she hungrily grasps at the bottle as if she hasn't eaten ever before.
During this morning time, my eyes are barely open, but her feet are still moving. Always moving. She rubs her little footie pajama'd foot up and down against the arm of her glider, and turns her head at every sound, including the pug, who has by now nosed her way through the door I thought I closed securely and is sitting on the floor licking her foot 100 times.
After she finishes her bottle, it's time to pull at stuff. Mommy's glasses, mommy's hair, mommy's shirt or pajama pants. Anything her little hands can get their tiny fingers around. I sit her down in her crib while I grab her changing pad, and she's already reaching for her crib camera while simultaneously about to topple over and hit her head on her bars. I catch her just in time and with one fluid motion lay the pad in her crib and place her on top of it. Now it's time to take our PJ's off. I unsnap the 20 snaps that go down the length of it (zippers, for the love, baby clothing makers - MORE ZIPPERS) and with the now slack that the fabric has, the top of it is heading for her mouth and she - still kicking - barely allows me to take her constantly moving feet out. Now it's time to take out her arms, but like the fighter she is - she has a stronghold grip on the sleeves that means I have to firmly - but gently, pry her fingers off of long enough to slide her arms out.
Whew. PJ's are off. Now it's diaper change time. I already see the blueberry apple dinner from the night before showing through the liner, so I know what's waiting for me. I open the wipes in preparation, and unlatch the diaper straps. I won't get into the gory details, but as I assess the task before me (2 wipe minimum? four?) her legs are still kicking. Only after she has managed to kick her dirty diaper that I was too slow to move out of the way in time, and the smudge of poop is already on her little foot, does she decide that now it's time for the foot-to-mouth game. I use one hand to pin her legs down to prevent this from happening, and the other to grab another wipe and quickly give her whole foot a wipe down.
Now we're clean. Naked as a jaybird, but clean. I go to grab a diaper, and miraculously she just watches me calmly. Legs still and outstretched...until I get back to her. The kicking resumes, and is now accompanied by the "what's over there?" turning of her entire body until I have flipped it back over at least three times. The diaper is under her booty, but every time I try to fasten it on, she unlatches the velcro. Did I mention she's smiling the whole time? I finally pin her arms with my left hand, pin her legs with my right and with a third arm that I didn't know I have, managed to secure the new diaper (which already has a blue "I'm wet" line on it, but Lord I am not doing that again) and pick her up to go to our room while we get ready for work.
Various things happen from here. She almost tips over her rock n play trying to reach my robe behind her. She makes dinosaur noises while chewing on Sophie and laughs her daddy tickling her. He leaves for work, and I am no faced with the task of changing her diaper again and getting her redressed for the day. Not to mention the epic battle that is now strapping her in her car seat, gathering her bottles for the day and getting out of the house by 7:15.
I'm exhausted. And then I go to work.
And people wonder why I go to bed by 9pm every night. Happy Thursday Moms! To all of you with newbies out there - your time is coming. Muhahahaha.
Love,
Dominique
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