Moses is totally besotted with Hazel, which I suppose is a good thing, although I find myself wishing sometimes that he’d avoid and ignore her instead. I spend a lot of time saying, “Get out of her face, buddy” and, “Okay, that’s enough cuddling” and, “Give her some space!” He’s all up in her grill; he tells me excitedly, “Hazel just slobbered on my face!” when actually he faced on her slobber. Fortunately Hazel seems less bothered by it than I am.
A few times now either Alan or I have commented to someone about Hazel’s chubby thighs and been told some version of, “Don’t worry, she’ll get skinnier as she gets older.” We then have to explain, shocked, that we were bragging, not complaining. When the hell did baby fat become a thing people worried about, or worried that parents would worry about?! Hazel currently loves looking at herself in the mirror, and is not at all bothered by her thighs; may this always be so.
I used to think I enjoyed mothering during the toddler stage more than the baby stage, but now that I’m at the baby stage again I’ve realised I was wrong. Toddlers are pretty fun when they’re not being awful, but babies are always fun. Or sleeping. I remember looking forward to the day when Moses would be able to talk and I wouldn’t have to constantly guess what he needed. Now the soundtrack to my life is a constant (it’s not constant, but it feels constant) stream of talk: “Can I have something to eat? Can we play Duplo? I want to make muffins today. Can I have something to eat now, please? Do you know what? I miss Kerry. Can I ride my bike? Can you play Duplo with me, Mum? How long is it til you’re out of the shower and I can have something to eat?”*. I’m starting to think that my guesses were probably right most of the time back in the day when he only pointed and babbled, and I’d really prefer guessing if it meant I could just wash my hair in peace.
* I promise I’m not starving the poor child, he just asks for food when he can’t think of anything else to say.