My Brilliant High-Maintenance Baby

I have a confession.

I think I might have a high maintenance baby. As I write this, he is attempting to take a nap because he is exhausted. Every 20 minutes he cries like he has seen the boogeyman and needs me to come to him and gently pick him up so that he can calmly fall back asleep in my arms. I lay him down, he sleeps peacefully, and 20 minutes later we begin again.

Play with me!

If we are having an in-house day, he needs me nearby at all times. He likes to look up into my face and make sure everything is hunky-dory. He wants me to read to him. He wants me to play with him. He wants me to sing to him, change his diaper, sit him up, lay him down, put him in the Jump-mo-tron, take him out, carry him around, nurse him, toss him around, bounce him, nurse him while bouncing him, and GOD FORBID if I try to sneak out of the room while he naps. He knows. It's as if he can smell that I've left.

Does all of this make my baby difficult? No! All of this makes my superfluous life difficult! Blogging is difficult, cleaning is difficult, keeping my etsy store fully stocked is difficult, showering is difficult, having a quiet cup of afternoon tea is really difficult.

But I refuse to think about the time I spend with Baby D as difficult. I'll admit that I have felt overwhelmed. I have felt completely burried by his needs and his heartwrenching little cries. I had to make a choice and the choice seemed clear:

If I can't change this situation, then I am going to change my outlook. 

No longer do I "suffer" through naptime, I relish in our quiet bedtime moments. No longer is Desmond feeling "fussy" he is particular and dependent - he needs one of us to help him feel alright. No longer do I worry about my dusty furniture, uncooked dinners, unfolded laundry. I cheerfully spend my days on the floor where he wants me, singing made-up songs about him and his farts and his toes and how much I love him. I joyfully wear him around the neighbourhood to keep him entertained. I happily stay home in the evenings, missing most of the adult fun my friends are having, just to splash around in the bath, give him a baby massage, and cuddle him to sleep at night.

People ask me if he is a "Good Baby" and I still say yes. Of course he is a good baby, all babies are inherently good. If you want to know my heavily biased mom-pinion, he is more than just good. He is spectacular and brilliant and so emotionally connected. And I'm choosing to enjoy every damn second of his baby brilliance.



Tell me I'm not alone. Do you have a brilliantly high maintenance baby?

Mom Voice and Stockholm Syndrome

Alright, my little bean. You've done it. You have successfully laid claim to my head and brain and thoughts and words. My vocabulary is shot. My spelling and grammar is worse. I can't keep an appointment or coffee date in my mind long enough to make it real.

My Captor

You have won. 

I'm absolutely, 100% yours. My heart belonged to you the first time I heard yours beating. But now you've won my smart-ass wise-cracking quick wit, too.

These past three days I've had the chance to hear my recorded voice in two different instances. On Sunday This Manic Mama posted a Mother's Day podcast featuring an interview with me. Today I showed Desmond's Babushka a video of me prompting him to say her name: "Babababa."

Oh, the mom voice. It killed me. It literally stabbed me in the chest with its vile high pitched tone and pulled out all my pride with its sing songy joy. Just know that if you are ever near a mom and she is pulling out that crazy voice - chances are she knows how terrible it is. Chances are she wishes she wasn't doing it in front of you. And chances are she won't stop. I won't stop. I know I won't - he loves the mom voice. And I am a sucker to do the things he loves.

Because the deeper I get into this heart-stealing, mind-controlling, head-over-heels love I have for my son, the more I realize that parenting is just a really intricate, intimate, and joy-filled form of Stockholm Syndrome. And damn if he isn't the most lovable captor.