It seems I’ve gained another twenty pounds or so. It comes and goes through out the day, and always on one hip, or my lap. Yes, Motheritis is in full swing at the Non Stepford Home, and I half wonder if I’m going to survive it.
For those not familiar with the term, ‘Motheritis’ is when a little one is a complete Mommy addict. Cannot bear to have her out of sight, or in Cubby’s case, out of arm’s reach. To be totally honest, he’d prefer to be grafted on to my body, so that there’s never any risk of not being in physical contact with me.
It’s wearing me out. Don’t get me wrong, I adore my baby, but holy old cheezits, I *do* like my physical space too.
I know, I know, that probably makes me a horrible mother in some folks views, but it’s true. I get ‘touched out’, I really do. I like being able to walk in the house without someone clinging to my knees. Or cook, or head to the bathroom, or just sit and attempt to read a book.
There’s also the mood changes. He’ll squirm to get down, and the minute his feet hit the floor, he turns to me, howling and sobbing, as though I’ve betrayed him and broken his heart by actually putting him down. Wash, rinse, repeat.
And, heaven help us when Boo decides that *he* needs a cuddle from Mommy. Cubby apparently doesn’t like sharing, and screams like he’s being tortured.
Come to think of it, Diva was almost as bad. For her, as long as I was in her sight, she was ok. But God forbid I left the room. She’d butt scoot after me like all the Hounds of Hell were after her.
And now, Diva is too cool to be hugged most of the time.
Maybe I’ll just do my best to enjoy Motheritis while it happens. Teenage years aren’t as far off as I used to think.