My baby and I, we need a cool-off period. Like right about now. We’ve been together for 10 months. It’s been really great and all that. But we need some space, you know. To think things over. To see where our relationship is headed. Maybe spread our wings. Get a feel of the world outside us two. Maybe even see other people.
The first three months, we were exclusive. Real tight, man. Couldn’t get enough of each other. A 24/7, joined-at the-hips kind of thing. My world revolved around him, his world revolved around...well...around my areola really.
Of course there was the usual adjustment period, but that’s normal at the start of any relationship, right? I mean, he couldn’t expect a 35-year old, highly independent woman to be an instant expert in taking care of something so delicate, right? He couldn’t expect me to distinguish between his I-am-hungry cry and his hug-me-coz-I-feel-insecure-being-alone-in-this-crib-and-oh-incidentally-I-am-hungry-too cry, right? Likewise, I couldn’t expect him to immediately adjust to my quirks, like my need every morning to spend a few minutes away from him so I could relieve myself. I couldn’t expect him to immediately understand that it takes about 6 seconds to unclasp the flap of my maternity bra while carrying him, and that any delay in feeding him doesn’t mean I love him less, right?
But we stuck it out, my baby and me. After a few more months, we had a feel for each other’s needs. I learned that I needed to hire a yaya to help me out; he learned to cry louder. So we’re still together, and why not? It was love at first sight after all!
Recently though, we haven’t been seeing eye to eye. He’s becoming more demanding, you see. Nowadays, he wants more than just milk and clean diapers. Now he wants me to make faces so he could laugh; to read “I’m the Biggest Thing In the Ocean” (Kevin Sherry) at least 4 times per day; to stoop down to hold his hands for long stretches because he wants to practice walking; to duck when he throws his spoon or his bottle; to endure my hair being pulled just so he can see hair being pulled; to carry all 25 pounds of him downstairs so he could have some morning sun and polluted air. I mean how much abuse can a woman take? I love him so much, but frankly, I desperately need a break from him.
He probably feels the same way anyway. ‘Cause he used to cling to me with both hands. Wouldn’t let go, you know. But now, after discovering the use of his legs, he brushes off my attempts to hold both his hands. Like he’s saying, “I just need half your help now, mommy. I need only your one hand now to help me stand.” Soon, he would need none at all.
Sure. No prob. A cool-off period would be perfect right now. I’ve been surfing the net for vacation packages anyway. So fine.
Nothing that involves a plane ride, though.
Or more than 3 hours by road.
Or more than an overnighter. Not yet.
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