Wednesday 24 July 2013

Life is just unfair

I am the one who put on thirty kilos just so that Leya could have life. I am the one who started to resemble Gerard Depardieu, becoming so grotesque in my aspect that, eleven months after the fact, my father still reassures me at least three times a week that I was the ugliest pregnant person he has ever seen in his life. I am the one who has had all kinds of substances, from antiobiotics to chicken liver, land in my hair as Leya raspberries her disapproval thereof. I am the one who has incurred her wrath and had to dodge tiny flailing fists because I have dared to remove cigars fashioned from dead leaves and duck pooh from her inner cheeks. I am the one who has woken up at five am to pretend that trying on a hat is the funniest thing I have ever done in my life. I am the one whose mind has turned into a jukebox with only three offerings: Wind the bobbin up, Clap your hands and Twinkle twinkle little star.

And yet, am I the favourite parent? NO. For the second night running, I have been a spectator to the Leya and James Show, the Greatest Love Story on Earth. Last night, they rested their foreheads against each other and stared into each others eyes for a full minute, gawklingly grinning at each other like two Internet daters who have finally struck gold. Desperate to be part of the scene, I laid my head on James' shoulder, trying to insinuate myself into their happy family. It was pathetic. I was like the short, badly dressed person who stands on the periphery at a cocktail party and laughs at inappropriate moments.

I haven't felt this left out since being the only Jew in the class at Christmastime.

Friday 19 July 2013

Sneaky confessions

There are some things about myself, only just emerging, that I am not proud:

1) I use Leya as a gym prop. This is largely her own fault, though, as she still demands being rocked and rolled to sleep for at least half an hour every night. Her favourite position is tummy down, in my arms, like a baby leopard cradled in the crook of a tree. She is the ideal weight and length to provide some extra impetus for toning exercises - which is why I intersperse my soothing swishing with a set of squats and lunges, using her prone form as a counterweight. I think she quite enjoys it.

2) I have developed a fixation with baby foods. I think I am going to make the most excellent old person - my love of soft foods that can be eaten without teeth knows no bounds. While I don't personally think there is anything wrong with tucking into a delicious apricot, prune and cinnamon puree for lunch, I am aware that my habit of stealing the food out of Leya's mouth (literally) is perhaps less than admirable. 'One for you, one for me,' I tell her as I share out her deliciouses, keenly aware that she cannot complain that most is going into my mouth.

3) I have become a kleptomaniac. This really isn't my fault; it hasn't been intentional: it's just that I now use the bottom pouch of Leya's pram instead of a shopping trolley. Inevitably, an item or two that has been covered up by one of her blankets, socks or other discards escapes my intention and therefore the cashier. Bad for my conscience, great for the family shopping budget.

4) My paranoia over childhood diseases has led to bizarre behaviours. For instance, I often find myself licking bits of Leya's arms or face to test for saltiness, just to make sure she doesn't have cystic fibrosis.