New Mummy Blog: When Your Laidback Baby Finds His Inner Drama Queen
I’ve always been pretty grateful my second baby is my ‘easy’ baby. While number one wanted constant attention, constant holding, constant feeding, number two was happy to wait his turn, happy to entertain himself, happy to, well, just be happy.
Luck of the draw or an early resignation that with a bigger, more mobile, more able to get into mischief sister, his role was to be the laid back second child; who knows. I wasn’t going to question it, just count my blessings that he was always ready with a smile and a cuddle.
Happy baby [Copyright: Yahoo/Claire Sparks]
But now all that has changed. And now he’s making up for lost time. And then some. My super happy chappy has disappeared, to be replaced with Mr Super Stroppy. With a very long list of impossible demands.
He wants me to be a mind reader
He knows what he wants and he wants it right now. The only problem is that, as he’s not really talking yet, I don’t always know what his frantic pointing, gesturing and shouting means. Unless it’s a dog, cow, bird, dinosaur, tractor or car - he’s got those sounds nailed.
Otherwise, I’m relying on guesswork, picking things up one by one, trying to second guess what object in the vague direction he’s waving at would be the most tempting to a 15 month old. All the while he’s getting more and more irate that I’m failing miserably, visibly straining and sometimes even shaking with uncontrollable rage at how useless his mother is. But how was I to know that, of the toy train, the daffodils, the chocolate buttons and his sister’s toothbrush that were on the kitchen table, it was the toothbrush he wanted. Of course.
He does not want to share anything
Including me. With two tiny children, 19 months apart, and only one mummy to go around, over the last year we’ve found a happy compromise where both my children can have a leg each so they can sit on my lap at the same time.
It was working nicely, if a little numbingly for me, and was really rather lovely most of the time. However, as of now, it’s not good enough for number two. He needs me all to himself. And he’ll push his sister off ‘her’ leg to capture my lap in its entirety. She doesn’t take kindly to it; cue much shouting, growling(!), crying from them and bruising of me.
Not so happy now [Copyright: Yahoo/Claire Sparks]
He is forming intense attachments to random inanimate objects
And heaven help anyone who tries to prise them from his vice-like grip. That toothbrush from earlier. A bottle of baby bubble bath because it has a picture of a bunny on it. Anything of his sister’s. Anything he shouldn’t have. Hell hath no fury like a baby who has these things taken away, so I’ve learnt. The hard way.
He’ll fling himself onto the floor, alternating wails of despair with roars of anger. He’ll writhe around, with no care for the dangerously close table leg or sharp corner. He’ll do that infuriating thing babies do where they make their bodies stiff and floppy at the same time, arms above their head, impossible to pick up or put down, rendering you useless and trapped in a half up half down limbo where one false move will end in disaster. Replacement objects, intended to distract, are tossed with disregard, rejected for their child-appropriate safeness, no doubt.
Even once the fury subsides, the hurt indignance remains, with little sobs and sniffs and shudders. Just to make sure we’re in no doubt as to the injured party.
He is furious that he’s alone when he wakes
I love being woken by the happy chatter of my well rested, content baby, singing to his collection of soft toys. That all seems like a dream now, for most mornings these days I am woken by the banshee shrieks and dragon roars of an extremely outraged baby that wrench me from sleep and propel me upright and cotside before I even realise I’m awake.
He’s turned the changing mat into a (very messy) battleground
Nappy changes are not about getting a nice, clean, dry bottom. They’re a prelude to murder. At least that’s what our poor neighbours must think every time the baby needs a change and decidesto bring the house down in protest.
So what’s caused my little angel to become a little drama queen, and a very grumpy one at that. And more importantly, how can I bring the happiness back?
Teething, says one person. Let’s hope not. He’s only got eight so far, that means another 12 milk teeth to come. And a whole lot of tantrums with them.
Building up to a big milestone, says another. Talking, walking, there are a lot of changes at this stage in a baby’s development and it can be stressful. Maybe that’s it.
Or maybe he’s just found his (very loud) voice. I don’t know. What I do know is that when he decides to bless us with that big beaming smile of his, it melts my heart more than ever.
