Two months more and it would have been a whole year since the last post (I blame it squarely on the sluggishness of the final trimester & the zombiehood that the 100 dark days bring on). Time really does zip by furious and fast.
The little lady is seven months old now and a regular day is filled with all sorts of squeals, sudden gestures and unexpected movements. Milestones are being tracked. Weight watching has assumed new meaning. Conversation at home glides effortlessly from investments and latest phones to vaccinations and ergonomic potty chairs. And the wardrobe is teeming with headbands of all styles and colours.
Like any gloating mum, I'm happy to note that she is quicker than The Flash & more curious than George. Of course she does plot meal time antics like a pro (I've found cereal in the most surprising places in the past few weeks). But that goes with the territory of being a baby so I'm satisfied to report that all is well and good.
As for me, I switch between playing disciplinarian and mush mummy with such ease it sometimes makes me wonder if all women are born with split personality disorder so that they may be armed to deal with precisely this situation (somewhere I hear the husband chuckle).
My Things To Do notepad is mostly blank since feeding and cleaning are the only tasks at hand now and one follows the other diligently, without fail, all- day- long.
But then there are also the squishable cutesy moments that fill me with warm fizz until my heart goes pop! Like the morning cuddle time, the various firsts, a new giggle, and so many other thises and thats. But nothing, I repeat, NOTHING, beats the power, the magic, the sheer high of the golden hour- nap time.
Aaaaah nap time! That blissful time when I can do whatever I want, which nowadays is literally 'nothing'. There is such joy in spacing out on the sofa. Lounging is a word I finally understand.
And with that I sign off for now. Itsy bitsy baby is crawling out the cot.
Until the next sleep hour, ta-ta!
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