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I’m out of touch…

November 20, 2009

Lately, because of various things going on with Little Frog – he’s working on getting in three teeth at the same time, making leaps and bounds in his movement (he almost runs to get things), and he’s getting more communicative – he’s been super clingy.  If I move at night, he’ll wake up and fuss at me, or he’ll scootch in closer, resulting in me waking up in a sweat from the two of us radiating heat off each other.  Many times I also realize I have a dead spot along my arm, always a startling realization in the middle of the night when the brain is only partly functioning, caused by the dead weight of the totally asleep child’s head resting on my arm.  The resulting numbing of everything on the other side of his head will later be countered by the jangling return of feeling when he finally shifts to nurse.  I’m not really sure what’s worse in that case – the dead feeling or the pin and needles, pokey-stabby feeling – especially when what you want is to be sleeping.

This clinginess of his is extending to more than just while we sleep.  It’s all day.  If I move, he wants to be right where I am, preferably in my arms, or on my lap.  If I set him down, squalls on a large, loud scale ensue.  He doesn’t want The Hubby in this case, though he’ll do in a pinch.  He doesn’t want Bro, and if made to go to Bro (like when Mama is cooking something hot and splattery on the stove) will howl as though deserted with a stranger.  He wants to sit on my lap all the time, wants all the things I have, to do all the things I’m doing (even those things that he can’t have or do), and does not want at all, in any way, to be set down – until he wants it.  Then he gets down, usually to play with Bro, giving me a rare opportunity to run to the bathroom unaccompanied!  No sooner am I back, and he’s attached to me again.  If I don’t immediately pick him up upon regaining my seat, he circles me, patting my leg, shaking the arm of my desk chair, pushing against the back of my chair, pulling on my clothes.  I feel hunted, by some weird, taunting little predator, one who’s not above letting me know that he knows I have the boobies, and that as long as I sit still and let him have the boobies, no one will lose their hearing.  LOL  I love him, but boy does he have strongly held opinions, and powerful set of lungs, and he’s totally not afraid to use either one of them. 

 Over the last week, getting him to go to sleep at night has been nearly impossible.  He’s asleep, I can tell by his breathing, his complete limpness, his stillness.  I move on the bed, preparing to get up – nothing.  I lift myself up – and *boing* up comes his head, like a prairie dog popping out its hole to investigate that noise, that commotion.  Upon recognizing that Mama is leaving, he’s up out of the covers and starting to protest loudly, while grabbing onto my arm. *sigh* All that time, laying down next to him all for nothing in the merest blink of my eye.  Sometimes I wonder if he’s got some invisible alarm system that tells him Mama’s on the move.

It wouldn’t be so bad, except for the fact that this sleeping time at night, is my quiet time, my recharge.  I’m not getting much of it lately, and I’m noticing it.  I’m noticing it in the worst of ways… I don’t want to be touched.  One of my closest friends calls it “Being out of touch” – in other words, you’ve touched and been touched so much, you don’t want to feel it any more.  I can deal with being a jungle gym, and climbed on, and accosted, and, and, and… if I get this down time.  When I don’t get it, when it starts becoming backlogged, I start to notice my nerves being more twitchy, I notice less patience – with everyone, I just want to run away to some quiet corner and be alone for a little bit.

Tonight, wonder of wonders, he went to sleep – huge sigh of relief – and here I sit, in the quiet.  The Hubby and Little Frog are upstairs asleep, Bro is in his room listening to Tom Petty, and I’m here at the computer, finally getting to blog a little before I pick up my newest hobby – knitting.  Yep, much to the happiness of my mom, I have finally learned to knit.  A good friend (who was my doula with Little Frog) opened her house to a bunch of crazy women – moms with their youngsters  in female service positions (lactation consultants, doulas, etc) for a get together every week.  We sit and talk, wrangle our kids, and try not to strangle our yarn as we manipulate our fingers and the needles into creating a cohesive chain of stitches.  It’s working, amazingly enough, though I daresay the biggest thing we’re all getting out of this is the camaraderie and companionship.  We sit around, flashing boobies as we nurse our children of various ages, to the soundtrack of conversation and clicking needles.  It’s fantastic, this reconnection with other mamas, and necessary to keep myself balanced.  Otherwise, I’ll lose myself even more than is already too easily happening.

Time to get back in touch with me, to find me again in the Momiverse that circles around me.  Me, spiritually, since that’s been on hold.  Me, craftily, as I’m loving this new thing I’m doing, but also miss the old crafty me.  Me, the person, since I know I’m so much more than just Mama, but somehow Mama takes precedence, and the rest of the parts of me seem to shuffle back in the back, like all the girls you knew in school… the ones who were always afraid to call attention to themselves.  Yeah, that’s the rest of Me right now – the jr. high girl, who stands back and lets life pass by because you’re not supposed to call attention to yourself.  Now I need to pay attention to those needs… at least a little.  Mama is important, needs to be forefront right now, but the rest of Me needs to not be lost in the process.  Hopefully I can juggle it, and not be so “Out of touch” both for my family and for me.

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