6 month madness approaches

So people say, "It gets easier" to give us hope that the insanity of life with a young baby won't be life forever as we know it.

But what happens when you haven't found life [braces] that bad? (please don't hate me), and the prospect of a crying, talking, sleeping, walking, living doll* gives you sleepless nights. 

Yes. I get sleepless nights from thinking about future rearing of an infant and not from real-time infant, because my angelic truffle of loveliness sleeps like the proverbial most of the time. 

Ok, feel completely free to hate me. I would.

If it helps we know how lucky we are. Also, we know that we had absolutely bugger all to do with this glorious state of affairs. It's just that, luck. Furthermore, the fact that we have been spoiled by such an unfussy baby leads me to worry about the post 6 month madness that awaits us. The life of a balling, teething, crawling, own-room-sleeping, weaning doll. I mean HOW MUCH CONFLICTING ADVICE CAN THERE POSSIBLY BE ABOUT EATING BLOODY FOOD?!! Answer: At least three types of method, four if you count putting food in own mouth to feed child like little bird, seventeen if you count combination of said methods. Eleven trillion suggested routines, at least a library's worth of foods to avoid so as not to poison/allergize (it's a word!)/choke/tooth decay offspring. Every man and his dog has an opinion on an optimum milk volume/feeding order, starting age, pace and acclimatisation yet unsurprisingly they don't drill down to any kind of general consensus. So frankly it's amazing I haven't just given her pizza, gone to rock in a quiet corner and recover from the pain of my anxiety driven frenzied crisp binge. Oh God, what if I have a Gluten allergy?!)  This impending myriad of confusion and change is all happening at the approximate time I convert from a life of demanding bliss to one of full-time work. 

Demanding bliss is the best way I can describe it. When I say it hasn't been that bad I don't mean that I haven't found it impossible to take a poo to completion, or epilate my legs in the 5.5 months since I got myself pretty for labour. Delphie doesn't nap in the day without rigorous rocking, shush-ing, stroking, intricate movement of releasing contact whilst simulateanously placing blankie on cheek as replacement - to which eyes spring open and then repeat. All for half a sodding hour of peace washing [clothes, bottles, dishes, self] (I am only writing this post because Daddy (I know, *sigh*, it just happens) has taken Little D to Gramma's for some uninterrupted Wales v Italy viewing Daddy-Delphie time). And Christ that gig gets tedious but god I will miss it when I'm away from her from 8:15am to 5:30pm five days a week. 

Truth is, I'm scared of the hard times ahead. When teething has obliterated her sleep schedule and you have to keep one eye glued to her at all times lest she sticks a finger in the plug socket or chokes on a rogue malteser that fell under the sofa two months back. I'm scared of going back to a stressful job and my ability to leave it at the door at the end of the day so I can give her my full attention. I'm scared that I won't be the driven committed person that I was 6 months ago. And I'm scared that that won't matter any more. I'm scared that I will be jealous of Daddy who will spend the next four and a half months at home navigating the madness.  I'm scared that Delphie might feel a bit sad or confused as to why I'm no longer by her side any more. And selfishly, worse, I'm scared that she won't feel sad or confused at all. Most of all I'm scared of the guilt that I know will land on my lap like a five tonne weight and just keep growing until she reaches maybe 21 years old, but probably more like 50. And I won't be able to breathe under it.

I'm a rational being, so I know I will counter these feelings with 'effective thought challenging techniques' (practicing what I preach and all that) and they'll work on a base level because, well, I know I'll only be doing the best that I can do. But I know even now that the techniques won't get to the core of it. The guilt will sit there like a dodgy chip shop supper. Because I want to have my cake and eat it - a career, each day with my lady, and for Daddy to have his time too. It's as useful as wishing for a Unicorn.

I know this must be a dilemma for many others and maybe the decision is easier for some, more clean cut. Maybe the job doesn't matter so much, or the allocation of Shared Parental Leave has you both getting what you want, or the view of quality-not-quantity time will get you through the guilt. Each to their own and hats off to us all getting through it alive. Either way, I'm going to enjoy these last few weeks, the most time I will ever spend with my girl, just the two of us, ever again (making it worse I know). I will try to get in the headspace for returning to work and prepping for an upcoming promotional interview when she goes to bed and shave my armpits somewhere in between. 

Dear Delphie,

I love you D. I've had an absolute blast. 

I'll miss you all the time. 

Here's to the next chapter. Be nice for Daddy. 

Please don't put any part of your body into an electricity source.

Husband - if you are reading this, here is a pic to show her daily so she doesn't forget my existence.

P.s. make sure you also feed her broccoli, avocado, cauliflower, swede - basically, you know, all the things that make you do that face and you have to Google to identify correctly - and not just peas and carrots.

*For the record I am not a Sir Cliff fan. Him and his stupid songs can go do one. And what is with those ridiculous lyrics?

Peace x