Monday, July 16, 2012
Day 1 - Under Pressure
After insisting that I handle all of the baby's needs this morning, I offered to make T breakfast before he headed off to work. He chuckled and refused my offer, sweetly indicating that I don't need to take on the world on Day 1. Regardless of T's impetus that I ease into my new role, I decided to start my day by making four new lists (To Do, Groceries, Baby Proofing, Projects) envisioning how quickly I would check each one off and how easily it would all fit into the new schedule I would build (Monday - Housework, Tuesday - Playdate, Wednesday - Errands and so on and so forth).
Mathew headed out to work right around the time that I would normally sneak out the door of P's daycare wishing his teacher's good luck. Right around the same time that P generally begins to get cranky - and he did. Playtime? No. Some Milk? No. Hold Me? Yes. Now put me down!
After about an hour of up "Pick Me Up / Put Me Down" and getting approximately 3/4 of a dish rinsed and in the dishwasher, P started rubbing his eyes and I thought, "Woo hoo! Nap time." What I didn't anticipate was that I'd listen to P scream for the next 45 minutes while I got myself dressed (and dressed well might I add, because I promised myself I would not let fashion or personal hygiene suffer). Forty-five minutes of scream, scream, scream, scream, scream. And then some more screaming.
I found myself a bit confused. The daily report he would come home from daycare which always reflected "Nap: 9:15am - 10am", not "Scream: 9:15am-10am." At precisely the same moment that I gave in and picked P up out of his crib, his body went slack and he fell asleep in my arms. Five minutes later, thinking it was safe to put him down I attempted to gently lay him back in bed for some serious napping. Instantaneously, he put Vulcan Death Grip around my waist with his legs and began to wail uncontrollably. Clearly unhappy with my decision to put him down, he seized the moment and relished the opportunity to pee all over me. How on earth did my little evil genius maneuver his baby junk right out of the way of his diaper in an obviously premeditated plan to whiz all over my super cute first-day-as-a-stay-at-home-mommy outfit? Thanks for the golden shower my darling child.
Game - Set - Match: P.
The rest of the day went somewhat more smoothly, certainly not great and I realized quickly that I need to reassess my grand plans. Susie Homemaker, the Rosetta Stone and my DIY projects would have to wait. Someone else has been raising my son for the last six months, spending 50-60 hours per week with him, getting to know his habits and managing his needs with ease. Someone else knows him better than I do and cares for him far more gracefully. Week 1 is no longer for making lists and organizing all the things I will do for the house, our family and myself. Week 1 is for getting to know P, beyond the weekend, beyond 30 minutes in the morning and 30 minutes in the evening. I'm not sure how I lost sight of this while making my lists, but somehow I did. Perhaps urinating all over my pretty shirt was P's way of reminding me; hopefully I would've figured it out anyway.