I was thinking about something funny in the wee hours of the morning, while I was feeding Sophie (off-schedule for the second day in a row). I was thinking that this blog is actually more than just a blog — it’s a record of the early days of Sophie. Along with stories about her being late, about cranky women in post offices and about my flabby belly and chunky thighs, when and what I post is also indicative of what she’s been up to.
I had a good thing going with my weekly routine, up until a few weeks ago. Sundays were grocery shopping nights; Blaine played basketball on Tuesdays so it was just us girls; and I appointed Thursday night as blogging night, so that the posts would go up on Fridays. I thrive within some sort of structure (obviously, or this blog would be called Free for All Baby). Of course there were days where we were thrown off track and groceries didn’t get done until Monday, or the odd time that I had to delay blogging until Saturday or Sunday, but for all intents and purposes, this loose schedule was working for us.
Okay, fine, it was working for me. Sophie could care less.
But all of a sudden, out of nowhere, she didn’t like to be rocked before bed. She wanted to be laid in her crib, with Blaine’s or my hand on her belly and one of us softly shushing while she drifted off. Okay, Soph, no problem. It takes twice as long, but alright. Then, just as we figured that out, she started to roll over. Every time we put her down, she’s on her belly in a matter of seconds. Cute, yes. Proud mama, right here. But she didn’t want to sleep on her back and she had to figure out how to sleep on her tummy. (Yes, I spent the first night hovering over her, making sure her little face was clear of the sheet. Yes, I know that it’s okay to let her sleep on her front as long as she gets herself there. Yes, I know I’m neurotic.)
Don’t even get me started on the days. She will stay awake for two hours — two and a half, tops — before she needs her bed. She gets in three naps, usually, but if it’s only two, look out. Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. Or Sweet and Sassy, as I’ve taken to calling her. I’m getting more Sass than I used to, that’s for sure. I wouldn’t have it any other way as she comes into her own — getting ‘curiouser and curiouser,’ I say — but it makes any sort of structure difficult. And it turns blogging every Thursday night into blogging whenever my daughter will give me an hour to do it sometime during the work week. Yeesh. Random. And if there’s anything I’m not, it’s random.
Of course I know this is only the beginning. I know she could love carrots for two weeks and then hate them with every fibre of her being. I know she’ll probably insist on wearing the same shirt to school every day for a month and then never want to wear it again. I know she’ll think I’m the best thing going for a while, before she gets to a phase where I’m just that annoying woman who drives her to baseball practice and buys her new shoes when she outgrows the old ones. (I’m really not looking forward to the last one.)
The only constant is inconsistency. I suppose it makes the most sense to embrace it now, while she’s little, instead of trying to find patterns and decipher new behaviour. Hey, at least it’s Thursday night and I’m blogging, just as I did up until a few weeks ago. It means nothing, I’ve learned — just that she went to bed easily and is sleeping soundly tonight and only tonight — but that’s okay. It means she’s growing and learning all the time, and what else can I ask for? Okay, a few more hours of sleep, maybe, but all in good time.