In Mary Bullock’s two years of life, there have been a few things that I’ve worried seriously about.
And when I say I’ve only worried seriously about a just a few things, I’m of course eliminating all of the mundane daily worries that crowd my brain, like food choices, sleep schedules, whining, and so on. I’m proud to say that though I’m a worrier by nature, I’ve managed [with practice] to relegate those worries to fleeting thoughts.
But some of the big worries have been these:
1. When to unswaddle. Mary Bullock was very nearly walking by the time we set her free of her Miracle Blanket. Ok. I exaggerate. But not by much. Really. I delayed making this decision until I had polled all of my mama friends, my mother, my sister, a thousand internet sites, blah blah blah. In the end, I gathered my courage, put her down without a swaddle, said night night, and she slept on as usual.
2. When to wean. She decided she was done-zo when she was nine months old and let me know by using her feedings to bite me. But she’d never taken a bottle, and the idea of weaning her to formula and struggling with the bottle only to wean her to milk in another three months just seemed kind of pointless. So again I polled my mama friends, my mother, my sister, and the same thousand internet sites. What can I say? I like to know exactly what advice I’m about to ignore, you know? And so I weaned her to whole milk. She didn’t starve, she didn’t become anemic or any of the other scary things I was warned about. In fact, my shrimpy baby gained weight and thrived.
Do you see the pattern?
I finally, finally decide.
And Mary Bullock goes on about her business as though everything is hunky-dory.
So I’m not sure why I thought that when I finally made up my mind to have her baby hair cut, the result would be any different.
I was so sure she would throw herself on the ground in hysterics and accidentally have her ear sliced off.
I had pictured it in my head very precisely. Well, the scissor part. And the ear part. But not the blood part. I don’t like picturing my baby and blood.
And in the end, she sat in the chair with her Teddy Grahams looking very nonchalant, and in less than five minutes, all of my worrying was rendered a complete waste of time and energy.
I’m sure there’s a lesson here somewhere.
But right now I’m worried about the gaggle of bug bite looking things on her leg, so finding the lesson will have to wait.
I have mamas to poll.
There’s google to consult.
And I might put in a phone call to my mother.
Just, you know, to see what they think.
Could be something serious.