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Attached

Remember how just a little while ago I was all, “my baby saves her special smiles for daddy, wah wah wah!” ?

Ha. Haha.

Jokes on me.

These days, it’s all about mommy. (And my boobs. But then, it’s always been about my boobs. Meeks is definitely a boob girl.)

It’s been brewing for a little while, but it all came to a head this week. First came the weekend – two whole days of MOMMY! (and her boobs! YAY!) The weekend is always a fav of ours (but of course) filled with lots of mommy-and-meeka time, as well as lots of yummy foods (booby time for her, cooking time for me) and lots of naps (for both of us). Of course, these little interludes always make Mondays hard (baby’s gotta learn, right? And this is an important life lesson. Mondays can suck. Lesson = learned)

But this Monday was different. It was Meeka’s 6 month appointment, which happened to fall smack in the middle of the day. And scheduling-wise, this made daycare impossible for the morning, and I knew from the last appointment, returning after the SHOTS! would also not be happening. So the Meeks came to work with me in the morning (luckily, Monday mornings are the one time this is a possibility…), we went to the appointment (because-she’s-my-child-and-I-dote-on-her aside: little girl is a genius! met all her 9 month milestones at 6 months! woot! … oh, wait. maybe that’s not a good thing. mobility? ACK!) (real aside: I’m well aware these milestones are lowest-common-denominator, and my daughter is completely normal and likely average. But she’s my daughter. So I’m allowed to think she’s a genius. I’m just not gonna force this belief on anyone else… until she truly is a Mensa candidate)

…and where was I?

Oh, yes. Monday. After the appointment we went home, as I’d arranged to work from home for the afternoon knowing the likelihood of crankiness and fever (HIGH). She slept a good 3 hours (allowing me to actually do my work, woot!) and then woke up – in a decent mood. WOW. We went down to daycare to play for an hour (me figuring it would be good to remind her of the place, since she’d now been gone 3 days, and well, if it’s bad after 2, imagine 3?!?!) which was lots of fun (I love her daycare. LOVE IT)

Home, dinner, bedtime routine. All went well. (foreboding music here)

She went to sleep like normal… Only to wake up SCREAMING at 10pm. Fever? Check. Inconsolable sobbing? Check. (OK, she was consolable. By my boobs. OF COURSE.) Terrible night? Check. (She managed to sleep – some- but only if I was holding her. ALL NIGHT LONG. Otherwise, she was up fussing every 45 minutes. As for me? Sleep? Heh. NO.)

She still had a (slight) fever in the morning. Daycare wouldn’t take her.

I had to call in sick. (Cue the start to my week getting really sucky… well, really, the lack of sleep was the real start)

She was fine – we had a lovely day together with her being her sweet, smiley, happy self.

Cut to Wednesday – after 4 days of mommy-time.

Was it bad? Um, YES.

Inconsolable crying, refusing to eat (anything, at all, ever). More crying. My husband was called to come in and help, but even he couldn’t calm her down. (I was stuck up at work, given my unintended day off the day before which threw my entire week into shambles)

Nothing worked.

Until I walked in the door. Mommy magic. End of crying.

It’s what I wanted, yes? A sign my baby loooooooved me? Well, I got it. She looooooooves me. And waaaaaaaants me. And won’t stand for anyone else.

Can we go back? Can I un-wish this? I mean, I love that my daughter loves me. I do. I just wish she’d also spread a bit of that love around (or at least some tolerance) so I didn’t feel so bad leaving a screaming child at daycare. (Truth? She isn’t screaming when I leave. She’s always happily playing on the mat. The fussiness starts later on, when she wants food or comfort and my boobs aren’t there to give it) (Also? I’m aware that this extreme preference for me comes entirely due to the walking buffet that is on my chest. She lets me know this by trying to stand, grabbing for my neck, and then leaning in open-mouthed to nom nom nom on my chest. Over my clothes. Like I said, she’s a boob girl) (Also also? She does adjust. She’s never as happy as when she’s with my boobies, but by day 2 she’s back to being my happy smiley girl)

 

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