If I've ever hinted or joked here before that taking care of a child is easy, and I hope that I haven't, then I now retract those words in full, and offer apology. For the last two days I have taken care of Rhys for a few hours each morning. Most of that time has been quite pleasant. But it has not been "most of that time" that has been most memorable. Pleasantness is rarely memorable, it can leave a strong impression, but few lasting memories.
If you've never been in charge of a baby's needs, the direct link to their happiness or wailing frustration, then I strongly advise you to give it a try. It might teach you many things about yourself. Perhaps not, I can only speak for myself. But what seems to come so easy for the boy's mother has been an occasional struggle for me.
Again, I want to emphasize that I've enjoyed this time, mostly. But the times that put us nearly to the test are not the pleasant times.
Oh, fuck it. I was going to launch into a (hopefully) funny retelling of my morning's experiences, but I just don't have it in me. The boy is going to wake up soon. And even though the nanny, Lisa, is here I know that I won't be able to maintain any concentration for it. Even the thought of it distracts me.
I'll say this though, at the hope that this post does not result in an excess of unsolicited advice: don't scramble. I've discovered that once the boy is upset and I scramble to make him happy it only seems to make matters worse. It's an easy impulse to give into, because once found, the peace that the solution provides is priceless. The boy has a very limited range of emotions and a few of those emotions are there to expressly communicate that he wants something. There are only a small handful of things that he ever wants. But knowing in advance, or at the time of crisis, can be very tricky.
Titties.
I've always loved titties. They are wonderful, alluring transmitters of happiness and pleasure, repositories of tender affection and generosity. In my mind they are made only of a woman's sugar, filled with lovely lactose and life-giving goodness. Though I know this to be incomplete fact, it is what I enjoy believing... They can be used in an astonishingly wide array of interactions, from flirtation through to its completion, and each diversion along the way. Seduction is barely possible without them, yet they are an unnecessary component to love - not superfluous, but also not required.
They are perhaps their most intriguing when not being consciously used at all. Very little ignites a daydream the way that two titties moving underneath a blouse can. They just are. They are magically self-explanatory. They exist in perfect relation to the life that carries them, the life they carry. It is no wonder that I've always felt they were put there just for me. They were. I see that now, the silliness of it all.
The beautiful, delicate, silliness of it all.
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