Catherine Connors is a mother, writer and recovering academic who traded the lecture hall for the playroom and discovered that university students and preschoolers have much the same attention span. She still dips her toes into academic waters by writing the occasional scholarly article about the place of motherhood in Western philosophy, but mostly now she changes diapers and wipes noses and indulges in long reflections on whether Yo Gabba Gabba is a harbinger of the decline of western civilization. Oh, and she blogs: in addition to Bad Mother blogging at BeliefNet, she is, among other things, the author of HerBadMother.com, Managing Editor of MamaPop, moderator of Her Bad Mother’s Basement, co-founder and co-editor of WeCovet, Contributing Editor at BlogHer, and (deep breath) founder of and contributor to Canada Moms Blog. And in her spare time… oh, wait. She doesn’t have spare time. But she’s okay with that.
So she bust out of the swaddle twice last night. I wasn’t going to start the blog this way again, but couldn’t help myself. It’s driving me crazy.
I’ve seriously got to let this issue go. ‘Cause if I was following this blog, I’d be like, “dude, set your baby free or get over it.”
So I’ll shut up about the swaddling. For the moment. It’s not like there aren’t, oh, ten thousand other things about Baby and her universe and my role in it to obsess about.
That was a short moment. That is, two baby-cycles (eat-awake-sleep) of a moment.
Nap attempt Number One: put sleepy Baby in bassinet unswaddled. Disaster. She looks at me with a look of utter shock and betrayal. Like I’m about to pitch her afloat down the River Nile (this simile would work better if I were putting her down in a Moses basket. But whatever.) Then the SCREAM.
Backtrack! One-two-three speed swaddle; a couple of gasping sobs, quickly corked with a soother, and we’re back on track.
40 minutes down. Not a long nap, but beggars can’t be choosers (napping is not, let’s say, her preferred way to spend her time.)
Nap attempt Number Two: partial swaddle; screaming. Loose swaddle; better. Baby goes down, reluctantly. But 30 minutes later, she’s out and yelling.
So I give up. Nap Number Three is currently in progress (20 minutes in and counting). Yep, she’s swaddled. Good and tight.
This has been one of those days during which I feel, for a moment or two, here and there (or maybe more) that motherhood is going to defeat me entirely.
But would I turn back the clock, have things any different? No way. This is super-tough, but I wouldn’t have it any other way.
(Okay - I would maybe have it with a full-time housekeeper and a baby expert on retainer. But that’s it!)
What’s crazy about all this is that I’ve called the Husband twice trying to lure him home from work early to spot me off on baby duty, but the minute he gets here and says “OK let me take her” I just know that I will turn away, cuddle her closer to me and say, “just give me one more minute…”
Because when you’ve got this…
… how can you not just cling on?
Still, the Husband is bringing me some wine. And I will – after one more good cuddle – hand her off in exchange for a glass of it.
Originally posted at Her Bad Mother, 2006. Copyright Catherine Connors 2006 – 2009.