Last night my precious little meltdown reached levels heretofore unheard of in grumpiness. It wasn’t gas, it wasn’t sleep, it wasn’t hunger, teething, or anything of the normal. Last night it was all about wanting to be on her side and in contact with a superheater (me).
And that was all it took… me giving up what I was doing and laying down to be a flesh blanket for a newborn who felt like it was time to heat up, lay down, and stare at nothing much (and occasionally slap herself in the face for no reason).
This is certainly not how I expected the two month mark to be. Heat slave to a pissed off baby, held against my will as a heat blanket, but at least it’s an ok fate as she didn’t need my solid attention, just my heat and laying next to her keeping her propped solidly on her side.
At that point I think it was all shadows on the wall and the occasional wakeup for a lost pacifier.
I’ve now learned to have the bed ready with remote control and some entertainment, because baby doesn’t care about my boredom, awake level, etc. She just wants a meat blanket of heat and love to prop her ass up, wipe away the drool, and hold her when she farts and scares herself.
It’s an interesting position to be in for me. I’m not exactly resigned yet to my fate as hot man meat, even though I know that’s what all the ladies think of me as… so I’m working on some way to at least be able to step away from gasmaster 3000.
I think now that her neck is more stable I’m going to probably resort to baby-on-belly in order to get a little me time in. Not that I don’t want to spend my time with her, but there’s only o much mental time I can devote to a half-asleep farting milk monster without feeling like I need to go out and walk, or clean up some cat hork, etc…