Somewhere between maternal instability and reflux P. turned six months old. Friday marked the exact date of this occasion, and I breathed a sigh of relief or ten for keeping a baby alive for this long. Only another 17 years and 6 months until I am home free and she is responsible for keeping her heart beating herself.
I'm surprised these six months have gone by so quickly considering the first three months of her life were most certainly the worst of my life. I do wonder sometimes if she will one day read all I've written since her birth and wonder if I ever really wanted her for those first few months. In retrospect, things are better, just as many of you predicted they would be. Nonetheless, I wouldn't want to repeat those months for anything, and had the misery continued I would have cursed Patrick Steptoe and Robert Edwards to an eternity of self-administration of hormone-filled needles to the testicles. Louise Brown would suffer solely through guilt by association for being the first product of a procedure that brought little hell beasts to desperate women who thought they wanted a child until they actually had one.
Ahem. Luckily, the anti-reflux medication has allowed my true child to emerge, and she is wonderful. The only time she cries is when I leave her on her playmat too long, which is generally the time I'm trying to watch Roseanne repeats that I've seen hundreds of times. Though I've not had her weighed in a few weeks, I suspect she is 15 - 15 1/2 pounds, which is about 10 pounds more than her birth weight. She's a complete glutton who has taken to every single food I have introduced to her during the weaning process, with a particular fondness for carrot and apple puree. Yum.
Speaking of purees, I am making them myself and freezing them. I'm sure the words "big fucking deal" are on the lips of many of you, but this is a huge accomplishment for me. I am in no way domestically gifted, so for me to go into a kitchen, prepare a food and freeze it for FUTURE USE...well, it's a shocking turn of events, let me tell you. I am Little Miss Suzy Homemaker up in here. Some days I even multi-task, doing dishes, laundry, general cleaning up, as well as standard baby duties. Don't worry gentle readers, even though I may start sporting a beehive and a starched, ironed apron, I'll still be listening to Jay - Z whilst pureeing my little heart out. As he says in the seminal work, Dirt Off Your Shoulders, "Ladies is pimps too, so go and brush your shoulders off". Naturally, as far as my life is concerned this is only superceded by the line, "Green for the money, yellow for the honeys", from 50 Cent's masterpiece P-I-M-P, which, duh, is totally the story of my life. Pardon me for the rap lyric diversion, I get carried away sometimes reminding myself that you can retain non mom-ish aspects of your personality after you pop one out.
So yeah...back to the kid. I do feel rather silly for gushing about P. turning 6 months, given that it's such a minor milestone. It's like when you have kindergarten graduation - what's the point in all the celebration? Was anyone ever in doubt that you couldn't handle the rigours of kindergarten and burn out before first grade? I don't imagine there were many that thought P. wouldn't make it to this point, aside from myself. Those dodgy days spent under the duvet, shaking uncontrollably and crying to the point of almost vomiting...those were the times it all seemed rather tenuous.
I have read so many blogging ruminations on the wonder of children reaching certain stages. Many are beautifully written, filled with amazement that this amazing creature is thriving and growing so quickly. Me, I just quote rappers. The difference between myself and those other bloggers is vast. I don't often feel capable of writing flowery prose about the glory of my child. I feel as if it makes me seem emotionally detached, since I can only seem to put the negative aspects of my experience into words. However, when I look at her and actually think that I have a daughter, that I am her mother, I don't know if words can ever do justice to the emotions I feel. Well, no words I possess anyway.
I don't do this very often, but here is some gratuitious baby eye candy. Here's to making it another 6 months, and hopefully many more, kid.