Walk. Sway. Rock. Vertical. Horizontal. Backwards. Forward. Bounce. Jiggle. Up. Down. Walk. Walk. Walk. Walk.
“What did you say?”
Rub. Rub. Rub
“No, I’ve been trying to….”
Pat. Pat. Pat.
Shhh. Shhh. Shhh.
“I don’t know”
Kiss. Kiss. Kiss
“Well, sorray, my hands are full!”
Crying children. They wear you down. They syphon off your patience, deplete your energy, tension your nerves and break your heart all at once. You are left sensitive, short and snappy.
Some times our girl cries. There are a few reasons a baby cries. It could be wind/reflux causing pain. It could be a nappy. It could be too hot or cold. It would be some form of discomfort. But they can also cry because they are bored, because its a bad time of day or because of some kind of philosophical or existentialist crisis as they ponder the absurdity if existence. You can’t tell, and they can’t tell you.
The Lad is 2. He can often communicate when something hurts. He can tell me what he wants. He will exclaim “Kiss Better!”, “I want it, a …….” Or “CUDDLE!” to tell me what I can do to help. But two years ago he couldn’t even do that. I guess that’s one of the things I forgot. This time though, I know a bit about what’s to come, which makes it not easier, but at least I know it ends.
It takes longer now to get to either child if they start to cry, especially when The Mamanator or I am on our own. I know that isn’t anyone’s fault, just a fact of life, but I wish it wasn’t. I wish I didn’t wish that, and I could stop it bothering me.
Today she cried the whole time her mum was in the shower, but I didn’t cut The Mamanator’s shower short. That would have been monstrously unfair if I had. Today though, today she snoozed on me and I didn’t want to put her down. Today I sat her next to her brother and read Hairy Maclary books. Today she stared at me, gazing at me as though she knew me better than anyone. Who knows what she’ll do tomorrow…