Five Things That Squidge Makes Feel Wrong

I’m aware that the title contains appalling grammar but I’m going to blame that on my lack of sleep or shredded nerves or something.

Here is my list of things that I just feel wrong doing now that we have a Squidge in our lives.

Eating –

Even if he’s just had his breakfast/lunch/dinner/bottle/umpteenth snack of the day if I so much as look like I might be attempting to eat something he will crawl over as fast as his chubby little knees can carry him, pull himself up on my leg and look longingly at me.

Every.Single.Time

So far he hasn’t really worked out what sugar is so I can usually get away with giving him one of his low-sugar, free-range, organic biscuits while I eat a chocolate chip cookie as fast as I can before he realises that his biscuit is less fun.

He usually insists on sharing my lunch with me and tends to be content with a piece of sandwich crust to gnaw on. The main issue with this is that while he loves finger food he hasn’t mastered the art of eating it properly and so me, him, the sofa and the floor end up covered in showers of crumbs. I’ve long since given up trying to keep my house looking the way it did before Squidge arrived and to be perfectly honest, if bread crumbs are the worst things that end up on the floor we’re having a good day.

Watching anything on the television that isn’t firmly certificate U

Squidge was a couple of weeks old when the most recent series of Game of Throne was on Sky. At this point he wasn’t going to bed until late because if we put him down at a sensible time he’d just scream for the next few hours. Rather than subjecting ourselves to that, instead we’d pop him in the carry cot, pull the hood up and face him away from the television, which had the volume turned down and the subtitles on.

This was fine for most things but I may have had a tiny freak out about GoT being on in the same room as Squidge, despite him not being able to see or hear it and even if he had been able, he would not have had any idea what was happening. The Northern One very patiently reminded me of this but it still felt so wrong to be watching gore and violence and people in various states of sweaty undress with my sweet, innocent little boy sleeping next to the sofa.

As he’s got older I’ve become a lot less concerned, mostly because (to him) trying to climb the lamp whilst using my hair as a guy rope is far more interesting that what’s on the television. I’m also eternally grateful that he hasn’t yet discovered children’s television; yes it would probably give me a break from being a forced participant in his mountaineering expeditions but most of it is so mind numbingly cutesy and I can’t get over how half the words are deliberately mispronounced.

Going out after dark –

Apart from my twice weekly journeys to and from work I have been out after dark exactly twice since Squidge was born, which made me feel rather like a naughty teenager on both occasions. Especially as on the first occasion I’d been out to dinner with a group of new mums from my buggyfit class and we had all been at the wine. The combination of most of us not having drunk anything alcoholic for the best part of a year and the food arriving somewhat later than the wine did, we all ended up rather tipsy. We spilled out of the restaurant and started giggling about how we were the ones out and about at night and our partners were at home with the baby. It also made a change for us to be awake at night for reasons other than feeds, nappy changes, dummy replacement and desperately trying to get an over excited baby back to sleep after they’ve decided that 3am is the perfect time for playing.

Going out after dark with Squidge feels almost as though it’s not allowed, which is daft, especially during the winter when it was getting dark from about half three. Squidge loved going out in the pram ‘at night’, especially when all the Christmas decorations went up in the shop windows. He would spend the entire trip in silence, just gazing at the sparkling lights with his big brown eyes like saucers with the effort of trying to take everything in.

Closing doors

I no longer close the bathroom when I go to the loo, except at the last minute if I remember that we’ve actually go visitors. It’s not so much that I can’t see Squidge if I close the door, it’s that I can’t hear him when he takes advantage of the 30 seconds I’m gone to do something really daft like try and climb the bookcases. If I leave the door open I can hear him making ‘effort’ noises or realise that I can’t hear him making any noise at all.

That’s the point when I run out of the bathroom practically mid-flow to find him attempting to catch and eat a woodlouse, wedged halfway under the sofa or using the Northern One’s PS4 controller as a teether.

My poor pelvic floor, it’s got no chance of recovery at this rate.

Thinking about having another baby –

This is a thought that occasionally crosses my mind, usually followed shortly by “Are you mad?” but I know that in the future I would like at least one more child. I would like Squidge to have a sibling(s), I’d like to have a few more weeny people to love and care for and I’d also like another shot at the whole ‘enjoying the pregnancy.’

Thinking about having another baby also makes me feel really quite guilty because it almost seems disloyal; as though I somehow think Squidge isn’t enough. I love my little boy to the ends of the earth and if we never have another baby (for whatever reason) I’m so incredibly grateful that we have him, even when I’m so tired I may well try propping my eyes open with matchsticks or starting an IV of citrus coke (diet, naturally).

I know in the logical part of my brain that wanting another baby or babies is a completely natural want and that there’s not the slightest chance that Squidge will wonder whether we had more children because he wasn’t enough. I’ve never, ever felt that way about my brother.

Unfortunately my logical brain is taking rather a battering at the moment and so many of my thoughts don’t make a lot of sense, even to me. So when I look back, with a rose-tinted view, to Squidge’s newborn days when he was all tiny and cuddly and, well…squidgy and think that I might like to experience that again my brain tells me that I’m a terrible person. It reminds me that Squidge is the most wonderful, gorgeous little thing that I’ve ever seen and that I couldn’t possibly love another child as much as him…

And yet…

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4 thoughts on “Five Things That Squidge Makes Feel Wrong

  1. oddsocksandlollipops says:

    I know what you mean about the guilt of wanting another baby and about not being enough, I worry about this with Boo, as I am still deciding whether or not to have baby no 2 (I suffered with HG which I am not in a hurry to experience again) but I do wonder to myself sometimes ‘Boo is perfect, why do I want another, isn’t she enough why do I want to have another baby, I worry about the time the new baby would take me away from Boo and I wonder how I could possibly love another baby as much as I love Boo.

    Like

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