I'm taking care of Fake Niece tonight; the New Daddy won tickets to see Thin Lizzy in the Olympia ("who's fronting them?" "eh..." "any idea who the support is?" "eh..."). She was all giggles and smiles when I arrived, bouncing on my lap, grinning and gurgling like a happy little lunatic. Until she cottoned on to her parents imminent departure and the lip started to wobble. It was bedtime anyway and she was overtired, so I put her in her cot as they were backing out the door, muttering reassurances about how she always screams at bedtime.
And man, can she scream. I sat there, bottle in hand, stroking her cheek and cooing soothingly, as distressed as she was and feeling like her wicked stepmother. She settled after about 10 minutes, thank fuck, and she's been sleeping peacefully ever since. I know because I've been checking every 3 seconds or so, terrified that anything might happen to her, or worse, that she might wake and start screaming blue murder at me again.
It's hard not to take it personally when a baby makes strange with you. I worry that I've no natural aptitude for it, that this squalling, hiccuping, 5 month old redhead can sense my anxiety and is planning to exploit it. That I'm somehow less of a woman because of all of this, and I've already got a complex about being a bit of a tomboy. Typically, I never really wanted kids until I was warned that I might have trouble having them. Now I worry that I might not get to have a suspicious, squalling hiccuper of my own.
Not that I plan on it any time soon, mind you. I really like my sleep, you see.
And man, can she scream. I sat there, bottle in hand, stroking her cheek and cooing soothingly, as distressed as she was and feeling like her wicked stepmother. She settled after about 10 minutes, thank fuck, and she's been sleeping peacefully ever since. I know because I've been checking every 3 seconds or so, terrified that anything might happen to her, or worse, that she might wake and start screaming blue murder at me again.
It's hard not to take it personally when a baby makes strange with you. I worry that I've no natural aptitude for it, that this squalling, hiccuping, 5 month old redhead can sense my anxiety and is planning to exploit it. That I'm somehow less of a woman because of all of this, and I've already got a complex about being a bit of a tomboy. Typically, I never really wanted kids until I was warned that I might have trouble having them. Now I worry that I might not get to have a suspicious, squalling hiccuper of my own.
Not that I plan on it any time soon, mind you. I really like my sleep, you see.
