Easier. That's what.
I've had my share of admirers over the years, ranging from interested-if-he-doesn't-have-to-work-too-hard to break-into-my-dorm-to-hang-pictures-of-kittens-over-the-bed.
Kittens.
Yes, kittens.
Nothing says "Gee, you're swell" like kittens, right?
Actually it said to me, "I am a scary psycho who is showing you that I can get to you any time, any where but aren't these kitties so cute and fluffy?"
Oy.
Then there was the guy from high school who called my house at 7:00 a.m. shortly after Jack was born and maybe set my car on fire...
Anyway. Fans. I've had 'em.
None like my daughters, though. Good Lord.
Natalie's attachment to me in her early years is the stuff of legend. If you were around us at any point from July 2005 to maybe November 2008, you know exactly what I mean. Natalie is the reason I can easily pee with someone on my lap, get out of a chokehold like I'm made of rubber and do pretty much anything one-handed (since the other was securing her on my hip.)
Many a day (Okay, every day) I called Tom at work and threatened to sell our beautiful baby to gypsies. If some had set up camp down the street, I would have taken the first offer and run. Of course, when they heard her screams as I booked outta there, they would have paid me double to take her back. If some part of us wasn't touching, it was completely unacceptable and she wasn't afraid to let the world know it.
Exhausting.
Oh how far she has come. What brought about the change? I don't know. Her teachers played a part in it for sure but not even the nicest person in the world stood a chance in 2007. I guess she reached a point where she was secure in my love, confident that if I left I would come back and ready to explore parts of the world on her own.
Oh happy, happy day.
Bathroom, it's just you and me now.
I've enjoyed my freedom. My sweet, sweet, hard-earned freedom. No looking back.
But The Bon has other plans.
Watch out, Natalie, there's a new girl in town and she's looking to take your title.
God. Help. Me.
Bonnie has fashioned herself to be a mini-Madam. Put her down on her floor mat the way she loved to be just two weeks ago?
Oh HELL no.
Forget the exersaucer. Don't even think about the high chair. Well, not unless you want to be deafened by screams that bring to mind a cat caught in an industrial mixer.
This isn't just if I leave the room. Oh no, I can't even walk away from the high chair to run water in her cereal bowl without her kicking up a ruckus.
She is The Madam 2.0.
Her carrying-on makes Jack very nervous. I think it is part of the reason he skips off to the bus every morning without a backward glance. He is used to playing second fiddle to a screaming sister so he'll take his chances elsewhere, my sweet, patient boy.
Natalie appears bemused when the screaming starts. Does it trigger a memory of her tumultuous baby days? Is she shocked that someone is out-Madaming her?
I don't know. The whole thing leaves me, well, kind of pissed.
I mean, I did my time with Natalie. She was one tough baby. For three long years I couldn't leave the room, let alone the house, without her erupting. It was nerve-wracking. And now I have to do it again?
Nuh-uh. This is SO not fair.
I don't know why they are so attached to me. Jack was never like this and he spent the first 9 months of his life in an anti-bacterial bubble with very few visitors in a (thankfully successful) attempt to keep him healthy until he was strong enough to face the germy world. If anyone should have been mommy-obsessed and fearful of parting from me, it should have been him.
I really don't want to do this again. I thought that I had an easy baby, a reward for my time in the trenches with The Madam. Wasn't that enough? Apparently not.
The first six months were a breeze. I told (bragged to?) everyone that Bonnie was such an easy baby. I was downright gleeful. And then she morphed. Kind of like a gremlin who got wet.
*sigh*
I put Bonnie down. She screams. And screams and screams and screams some more but I put her down and I let her cry until I accomplish whatever quick task I can manage. I will keep doing that until she pops a blood vessel from all of the wailing or until the neighbors call CPS. (Why couldn't separation anxiety have held off until winter when the windows are closed?!?)
I don't know what else to do. Like the United States Government, I do not negotiate with terrorists. I may cut my finger off slicing a tomato b/c her shrieking is so godawful but I will keep on putting her down several times a day and hope (pray!) that she learns to trust me faster than Natalie did.
I can't promise that I will always come back, little girl, because somethings are out of my control but if it is in my power, I will be back as soon as I can. Now please let go of my hair and my bra strap. Your kung fu grip effin hurts and if I splash you with the boiling water on the stove, you'll really have a reason to cry.
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