As soon as I write about how Claire is now taking her morning nap later, it changes. Today she’s whiny, clingy, and fussy. She napped briefly in her swing. She won’t fall and stay asleep for me to put her in the crib. I put her back in the swing instead so I could get a bite to eat. (What ever will I do once she’s too big for the swing?) She’s not sleeping, just lying there looking forlorn. I think she feels unwell. She’s been sucking on wet cloths lately (another tooth coming?) and she has a diaper rash from a reaction to sweet potatoes. So she probably hurts at both ends (even with Calmoseptine, she needs frequent diaper changes and cries when her diaper is even just wet).

Perhaps what I need to do is submerse myself. I’m not good at that. I’m not a submissive personality. I’m still struggling to keep a piece of myself, to have control. I’m still looking for patterns, routines, schedules. I’m still dividing my life into “work” and “play,” “on-duty” and “off-duty.” But the truth is that I’ve got this little person in my life now. I made the choice to have her and committed to her care. This means long hours. I used to commit my life to long hours for work and school and accepted that my energy and time for extracurricular activities was limited. This was okay with me, because I had a larger purpose, a bigger goal. Well, I’ve got a new purpose now. Surely it’s worth devotion. The books will be there. I’ll still make art and knit. It just may take longer to accomplish things, and the number of books read or things knitted will be smaller.

Claire’s becoming such a little person. More vocal. More insistent. Physically much stronger. Louder. More present. When she’s in her highchair and I’m making her cereal, I’ll look up at her from the kitchen, and she beams a smile. She looks like a toddler to me already. I feel a change. She’s no longer my little vulnerable baby to cuddle. She’s separating, exploring. I’m also learning on a new level what mothering requires. She’s more tangential in her actions, and sometimes I have to stop myself from exerting my will. I mean, what’s the rush? If there’s no appointment to get to, no destination, then I don’t need to direct things. But I do try to direct things. (What’s so important that I’ve got to do? Go back to the web?) I described this to Husband, and he put it a way I liked. I’m her support staff. My role is to be with her while she grows. It’s just that now she’s more self-directed, I’m learning what this really means. In a way, I’m learning how connected I am to her, but a different kind of connection. It’s not as sweet and cuddly. It’s more of a serving role. Even though she’s moving away from me in one way, the situation requires more of me in another way. And it’s an exciting shift, full of discovery; it’s just very different from the first 6 months.

In addition to this adaptation, there’s the usual unknowing about what she needs. Some days are perfect. I offer food when she’s hungry and she eats. She is tired and I rock her and she sleeps. She plays alone with her toys for chunks of time, giving me a chance to eat. Today she is fussy and clingy. She doesn’t have words to tell me why. I try different interventions, but on days like this little seems to work. If I judged my success as a mother based on how regular every day was, on whether I could get her to routinely nap, I’d give myself a big fat F. Fortunately, I’m not being graded. I can instead just accept that every day can be different and go with the flow. I can accept that expectations will not be met and let go of them.

I did manage to tackle the office/art room. I put Claire in a bouncy chair with me and very quickly sorted things out. I had about 10-15 minutes, and when she started to get restless I pushed her just a little longer so I could get a little more done. (I’m learning that this is a negotiation.) I made quite a dent in it all, although some of the stuff just moved into a pile on the floor instead of the desk. One advantage to squeezing this task in with her nearby is that I don’t waste time over-thinking and lose myself in reverie about what I could do with the item. Either it’s important or it’s not.