The Quiet Years


Ever since Sunday, my little munchkin has been undergoing a 180-degree change. She goes from the happy, cheerful and energetic baby to the cranky, crying and impossible-to-handle one in a matter of hours. According to my mummy-genes, I’m definitely sure it has something to do with her molars coming out. I have never known her to sit still on the sofa, head bowed downwards and not moving AT ALL as she was last Sunday evening. Yesterday she was so cranky and worn out, she went to bed at 7pm. Then woke up at 11pm and could not sleep again before 1am. Our family at the moment is a teething and cranky baby, a zombie-like mummy and poor papa’ who has to endure all that and face a day at work.

We have known better times.

Yesterday, in the midst of trying to settle a nightmare-baby after I took ‘her’ broom away, clean up after the mess she makes with her toys and trying to figure out what was wrong with her, The Husband and I recalled our ‘quiet weekends’. We had them pre-Cesca, and we loved them and we can’t ever have them back again. Or so it seems at the moment. We’d spend our weekends enjoying the silence that surrounded us. Sometimes a whole weekend would go by without us even switching the TV on. Nowadays it seems the TV is always on, and always on some baby channel. Add to that the constant sound/noise of C. For starters, she never ever stops talking. She mumbles and grumbles from the moment she wakes up and continues to do so even in her sleep. She keeps herself entertained with her ‘words’ and is always saying something. Then there are her toys and her newly-found love of tossing things around. She grabs her toy-stations and throws them across the room. Her poor soft-toys also get some of this action. But of course, it’s the heaviest and most solid things that she loves moving around – her wooden dog we got her from Bruges is a favourite. I swear I see the poor dog’s eyes giving me pitiful looks, begging for me to save him. He does get the worst of it all.

Along with the love of her own voice, there is also the most annoying of them all – the love of her screaming. She loves doing it. She will not be crying, just screaming. I leave her in the room, she’ll scream for attention, if I dare go out to hang the clothes and leave her inside, she’ll become purple in the face with screaming, and if I take a shower when she’s awake, she will follow the water-sounds to the bathroom, bang on the shower doors forever and scream till I either get out or let her in. And for a young girl, she lets out these toe-churning, lethal screams that can probably be heard by all our neighbours. It has in fact become quite embarrassing meeting them. God only knows who they must think we are – a screaming baby, a sometimes-screaming mummy, things being thrown about… Even writing this, I’m getting red in the face.

Surrounded by all this chaos, all this noise, all this crankiness, all this mess, I look back at our quiet years and wonder if they really did exist ever. I wouldn’t change my life today for anything ever, but I do have to say that at times, I yearn for some peace and quiet.

The Assistant and her new BFFs. (Sorry for the blurry pic but really, getting a still picture of her is more difficult a task than keeping up with her!)

 

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One thought on “The Quiet Years

  1. Pingback: Quiet Time « It Just Dawned On Me

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