Yesterday morning as I wheeled around to face Ben, frustration crackling through my body as Maeve, for the zillionth time that morning, shook her head no at the food I was offering and wildly threw it all over the floor.
He smiled at me. Do you want to give her back to the Baby Fairies?
Yes, without hesitation. I looked at her soft curly hair and moony baby face. Yes, I do.
In fact I've wanted to every day this week as she's added witchiness to the once-peaceful witching hour, and I haven't known how to satiate her.
Last night sleep and popcorn making collided -- so much just-getting-warm in the blankets and then POP! someone cries and up I go. All. Night. Long. On one of the visits to Maeve's room, we sat in the chair, her head tucked snugly in the crook of my neck, little arms around my arms with a koala grip, and rocked. This, I thought, is what I love. As soon as I thought it, I realized why I've felt so bewildered and disappointed this week: I still think I have a baby. I'm still expecting someone loose and snuggled in my arms, someone whose needs I meet easily with a bottle. I'm not prepared for defiance yet, even one year old uncoordinated head shaking that makes her fall down when she walks (because she shakes her head and tries to run away from me!!!) I'm not prepared for a baby with strong preferences who wants to eat ONLY bananas, cottage cheese, cereal and yogurt (is that ok??) rather than whatever great foods I offer. But here we are at 13 1/2 months in the toddler years.
Maeve, I am sorry I wanted to give you to those fairies, though they would have loved you. I promise not to give you away.