I used to be such a slow person, and my parents said as much.
I moved too slowly, according to them. I dressed slowly. I took long showers. I savoured every bite of food, sitting at the dinner table until everyone else was gone and Mum was telling me about her day (she was waiting to wash my bowl). Oh yes, I took life at a very leisurely pace.
Now I dress like a maniac. Half the time I end up grabbing Jack’s clothing and I don’t care. I shower like I’m crazy. Remember when we were kids and we all asked each other if we could tap our heads and rub our bellies at the same time? I do that in the shower except it’s to rub shampoo in and soap on, and then the opposite to get it off. The other day I took the holiest shower ever in my lifetime. I mean, I was praying the entire time that baby wouldn’t wake up in the middle of my shower. The minute the soap came off, I turned off the tap and she started to make noise, I switched over to “thank you God thank you God I’m not forced to rain suds all over the bedroom.”
Besides feeling like a marionette, limbs jerking around in giant spurts of energy and then flopping down in a corner whenever baby finally goes down for a nap, there’s all the farmyard feelings. I’ve never felt closer to livestock than I do today. First there was the chicken stage, where I laid an egg. Then there’s the ever recurring cow stage, where I provide milk. Nipples are no longer sexy when you start breastfeeding. They lose almost all feeling, and probably the only time I’ll start feeling anything again is when baby starts teething. Oh, and then there’s the pig stage. Remember maniac-Andrea? She has to shovel food down her face because baby will inevitably want to eat at exactly the same time.
Even as I type this, baby sleeps peacefully in the dark, spreadeagled over as much area as she can claim. She raises an eyebrow in her sleep as I caress her cheek and I can only imagine the sass will be more when she’s able to talk. But I’m glad to hold her and have her at this stage. I can’t express the joy I feel when I hold her hand in mine, the pudgy palm and fingers now able to wrap around one of my fingers with ease, or the happiness I have when she wakes up in the morning and blinks cheer at the sky outside the window, or the way she looks up and around when I wash her gums, just like I do when I brush my own teeth. She’s a beauty (all mothers think their child is beautiful) and I’m happy to be her cow.