When I fell pregnant with Leya, one of the things that I couldn't quite wrap my head around was the fact that I would never be alone again. At the time, not knowing how much I would love motherhood, I saw this as an enormous drawback - the surrender of my solitude.
Now, I can never imagine being apart from her. I'm ashamed to say I have passive aggressive battles over her with her nanny - yes, the woman I have hired for the express purpose of looking after her while I work often falls like a skittle as I casually bump her out of the way to be the first one to the change mat. Whoever thought I would fight to be the one to change a nappy with the same 'out of my way' tenacity as a single girl trying to catch the bouquet after too much champagne.
When I do have to hand her over, I find that I miss my baby like an amputee misses a phantom limb. In fact, I act in pretty much the same manner. This is evidenced by my incessant 'mommy shuffle'. Ever mother has her own version of the shuffle - mine is particularly vociferous, sometimes involving a few stamps of such volition they would do a furious flamenco dancer proud. There is a lot of bending and swaying involved, too. Usually, I don't feel too embarrassed by my mommy shuffling - as one acquaintance recently observed, when you get together with a bunch of parents, it often looks like they all need to pee, so intent are they on their various bobbings and bouncings. Also, some people's mommy shuffles are far more embarrassing than mine - recently, I saw one which closely resembled a particularly fraught interpretive dance performance. But what makes mine so cringey is the fact that it doesn't end once I've successfully rocked Leya to sleep. Often, I find myself weaving from side to side, bending my knees vigorously and humming long after I've placed her in her cot.
Most recently, this happened at the bank. It was hot; the queue was long, and before I knew it I was rocking gently to and fro and doing rhythmic mini squats. The people around me looked down at their hands. We all felt awkward.
I've noticed I do it while grocery shopping, too. I'll insert a little spring into my step, so that my simple heel-toe becomes something almost balletic, as I traverse the aisles, warbling along to the in-house station.
It would seem that my entire life has become centred around building the skills required to put babies to sleep. But, while I can't pretend this isn't socially undesirable behaviour, I'm the one smiling when Leya shuts those eyes, unable to resist a motion that has been perfected after many hours spent waiting in lines.
Now, I can never imagine being apart from her. I'm ashamed to say I have passive aggressive battles over her with her nanny - yes, the woman I have hired for the express purpose of looking after her while I work often falls like a skittle as I casually bump her out of the way to be the first one to the change mat. Whoever thought I would fight to be the one to change a nappy with the same 'out of my way' tenacity as a single girl trying to catch the bouquet after too much champagne.
When I do have to hand her over, I find that I miss my baby like an amputee misses a phantom limb. In fact, I act in pretty much the same manner. This is evidenced by my incessant 'mommy shuffle'. Ever mother has her own version of the shuffle - mine is particularly vociferous, sometimes involving a few stamps of such volition they would do a furious flamenco dancer proud. There is a lot of bending and swaying involved, too. Usually, I don't feel too embarrassed by my mommy shuffling - as one acquaintance recently observed, when you get together with a bunch of parents, it often looks like they all need to pee, so intent are they on their various bobbings and bouncings. Also, some people's mommy shuffles are far more embarrassing than mine - recently, I saw one which closely resembled a particularly fraught interpretive dance performance. But what makes mine so cringey is the fact that it doesn't end once I've successfully rocked Leya to sleep. Often, I find myself weaving from side to side, bending my knees vigorously and humming long after I've placed her in her cot.
Most recently, this happened at the bank. It was hot; the queue was long, and before I knew it I was rocking gently to and fro and doing rhythmic mini squats. The people around me looked down at their hands. We all felt awkward.
I've noticed I do it while grocery shopping, too. I'll insert a little spring into my step, so that my simple heel-toe becomes something almost balletic, as I traverse the aisles, warbling along to the in-house station.
It would seem that my entire life has become centred around building the skills required to put babies to sleep. But, while I can't pretend this isn't socially undesirable behaviour, I'm the one smiling when Leya shuts those eyes, unable to resist a motion that has been perfected after many hours spent waiting in lines.
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