Jude is 7 months old! I feel like I am getting the hang of this mothering thing in some ways, but there are still times when I don't know what in the world I am supposed to be doing with him. It's like, we wake up in the morning and then I spend the next couple of hours waiting for him to tell me what to do until it dawns on me that, whoa, I am in charge here.
It takes my breath away when I think of how I'm supposed to teach him everything he needs to know to be happy, wise, kind.... Shouldn't I be reading to him more? Mimicking him? Rolling balls to him? Does he need one of those cubes where you put the different shapes into the holes yet? Should I make him stay on his belly for 10 minutes every day even though he doesn't like it? Am I feeding him enough? Too much? Did I leave him in that bouncy seat too long today? Is it going to delay his walking? Does he really need the 1 ml of flouride that I put in his cereal every morning? Why do I feel guilty on cold nights where I get to huddle under quilts in my bed while he sleeps blanketless in his crib? Oh, and speaking of sleep, who knew that getting a baby to sleep was actually under the category of Rocket Science? To cry, or not to cry? Either way, I end up crying.
Sigh. There are moments, though, that shatter my neurosis into a million pieces. I walk into his room every morning and after every nap to be greeted by this huge 2-tooth grin and wiggling legs. Sometimes he even lets out a sigh of relief as if to say, "she came back." Then comes the snuggling--he burrows his little fuzzy head into my chest and sits there awhile as he wakes up. So happy and content. I must be doing something right.