electric mist

every little thing...

I discovered this fun new mom's blog, dooce... she cracked me up with the "stupid standard" post, except that it reminded me of all the things I did that, if the kids knew about them? I would totally owe some therapists somewhere my house and all future earnings.

The first big one was the time when Luke wouldn't sleep. Nine months of colic, people. Nine. Whole. Months. No sleep. Sleep deprivation can make you do not entirely bright things. (That's my story and I'm sticking to it.) He never slept, except to catnap just long enough for me to start thinking that maybe, just maybe, I might actually get to eat or sleep or you know, shower, and feel like a human again, instead of just an over-grown furry milkbag, but then as soon as I'd make it into the other room, bam, crying.

One night, very late, we'd been doing the pacing, dancing, singing, pleading, begging, jiggling, rocking, begging, dancing, pleading thing, and for some reason that made a whole lot of sense at that moment, I decided that I would "swing" Luke. (We didn't have one of those fancy swings that you can park a kid in... or otherwise known as the Jake Motel, once Jake came along.) I stood and started with him near my knees and lifted him up, then let his weight carry him back down where I'd swing him through my legs so that we had enough momentum to go back up again. He was five months old and heavy; I needed the momentum. So anyway, I start swinging him, and he does this astonishing thing: he laughed. Actual laughter, not hysterical I-am-going-to-die and you-are-going-to-hell screaming, but laughing. And of course, this must be encouraged, this strange laughing thing that I had heard other babies did, but apparently my baby was broken and never did this thing. But there he was, laughing. Was I going to stop swinging him to go back to the screaming? No, I was not. Even if we did gain a bit of momentum on each swing... even if he was getting a little heavy and my arms were getting a lot numb. Because at the top of every arc, that kid laughed. I would have kept it up until my arms fell off.

Unfortunately, my arms did not, indeed, fall off. No, what happened was that at the top of the arc, after we'd been doing this for about four thousand years, Luke decided to be Superman, and he stiffened and popped clean out of my hands, doing the most perfect "Superman is flying imitation," you would have been impressed.

And here's my thought process:

Holy shit, he's flying.

Holy shit. He's flying.

Over my head. With the flying. Only babies can't fly, a fact that seared itself into my brain the very next split second. Because I am quick like that. I spun around and yep, there he was, sailing head first toward the rocking chair. Have you ever seen a baby register complete shock? Let me tell you, they can do that. They look a little bit like a squirrel who just swung for a limb and missed and realizes that, damn, gravity works.

So I dove for him, sort of half-assed breaking his fall before his head ker-thunked onto the rocking chair, and we both hit the chair with such force, the chair and Luke and I all went sliding into the piano.

He had the mosed dazed, confused look on his face. Like geez, if this is supposed to be when she loves me, what is she going to do when I pee on her? And he didn't really move much. I'm not entirely sure he blinked, there for a minute -- probably wanting to keep an eye on me in case this tossing-the-baby concussion thing was all a part of the game.

I swear to god, that kid never had another night of colic. Nary a peep. It is an amazing testament to the resiliency of kids that mine made it past the age of two.

Posted by toni at March 29, 2004 11:34 PM