I’m feeling a little fragile this morning, and no, it’s not because I got well and truly shit-faced last night and spent the morning vomiting fresh orange juice and my stomach lining in to an empty box of Celebrations (that was Sunday morning #mumgoals). I’m feeling fragile because last night my tiny teething human managed to reach in to my chest, grab hold of my heart, give it a little yank and twist and pull it right out of there; breaking it in two as he went. I’m pretty sure he didn’t mean to do it, and I’m also pretty sure he is unaware that he did, but nonetheless he did do it…the little shit.
To cut a long story short, Dexter woke in the night screaming blue murder due to the standard baby issue of teething (those little white bastards have a lot to answer for), and for the first time ever in that kind of situation, my tiny little human didn’t want me at all, he just wanted his Daddy.
As you can probably guess, I am being a tad over-dramatic, but let me just paint a picture of the scene: not only did he want his Daddy; he wanted him so much that even in complete and utter agony, he was prepared to writhe and throw himself about, with the potential risk that he may have launched himself right out of my arms and in to a deep pit of burning flames, breaking all his limbs as he went (AKA face-planted the floor from a height) in order to get to his Dad and away from me.
If you’re a Mum, you’ll know how I must have felt. I grew this sack of cells and then pushed them out of me once they’d transformed in to a tiny (really BIG when you consider the context) alien shaped thing, and then continued to nourish and grow it in to a 10 month old sausage man (god those arms are a full on string of Tescos Finest hanging from his shoulders) with my very own boobs, which now resemble a couple of Yorkshire teabags. I honestly felt gutted.
I cried. Of course I bloody cried! It was a combination of seeing my baby in such pain and distress, and the fact that he didn’t think that I was the right candidate to help him in his hour of need. As Dex has grown and become more like an actual person than a little creature that makes weird noises and looks at you funny, he has begun to carve out a support system for himself based on what he has learnt about those two idiots that he is stuck with so lucky to have. “Dadadad” is ‘the fun one’* who is always up for a laugh and willing to throw him about a bit until his eyes wobble, and “Maaam” is ‘the dependable one’ who he goes to when he is tired, wants food, a cuddle…
Last night he really turned this on its head.
He’s fine this morning that little shit of mine, and he does love his Mummy, I know he does (even if last night it took Mr B 34 attempts and 11 tissues to convince me of the fact). He has cuddled me, played with me, propped himself up on my knee to let me know he was ready for his breakfast, laughed at my terrible singing, stroked my face as I held him up to see the dogs (sheep) out of the window, and nuzzled in to me before I put him down for his nap. He is my little boy, who is growing fast in front of my eyes whilst I’m willing him to slow down just a little. He knows his own mind, and some days he will want me and others he will want to cuddle his Daddy more, and that’s OK (did that sound convincing enough?)
Any Mamas out there had a similar situation reduce them to tears or just me?
*Disclaimer: I am also fun and can throw babies around for a laugh, honest.
Just a few classic Daddy-Dexter photos that I love