We got up bright and early this morning to take Moustapha to the airport, all that is left to remind me of his visit is his dirty laundry on the floor, and a huge pile of dirty dishes on the counter. Sigh. Mary bawled like crazy when we left the airport, she kept looking back and sobbing. It was pretty sad, but she fell asleep on the drive home and when she woke up she was fine.
Speaking of Mary, this morning when she got up she managed to get one foot on top of the rail of her crib. What is up with that? Does this mean that I need to get her into a "big girl bed?" Cause I don't want too. I thought that I would have till she was at least two till I needed to worry about her climbing out of her crib, damn it.
The weather is finally lovely and sunny today, so Mary and I hung out in the front yard this morning after sending Daddy off. She is so funny and busy, and crazy smart. She has two balls now, a smallish finding nemo ball, and a giant hot pink one. She keeps trying to stack them on top of eachother, and she wants to have control of both of them at all times, she she holds the littler one between her hand and her chin, and she pushes the big one around with her free hand. I'll have to take a picture this afternoon, it's the funniest thing I've seen in a while.
It was nice to have Moustapha around for a while, but I have to say that I was almost (I said almost, that doesnt mean that I actually was) relieved to see him go. It's getting harder and harder for me every time he comes home. I have a routine, I'm used to things being a certain way, and he really messes with that. I also had a hard time with Mary while he was here. I'm used to being the only one that she hugs and cuddles, and after about the tenth time she rejected me, screaming in rage, only to cuddle with him, my feelings were really hurting. I know that maybe it's petty of me and I really don't mind that she loves her Daddy, but for crying out loud. I spend 24 hours a day for two months being her sole caregiver, staying at home at night, feeding her, cuddling her, changing her diapers, putting up with her temper tantrums...why does she have to love him so much more than me? (Yes, I know I'm being unreasonable, but my feelings are still wounded).
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My mother-in-law used to be a nurse and keeps reminding me that "rails break falls". I guess if you're going over, at least it slows things down (or it did with her charges).
Don't feel bad about the being spurned bit. Whenever I ask Danny for a kiss these days, he runs over to his hobby horse (or Raggedy Ann-whomever is closer) and gives them kisses instead. At least you're being rejected for a human being.
Supposedly 35 inches (what is that, about 90 cm?) is the height at which a child should be moved to a bed. I'm dreading it too-how am I supposed to prevent him getting up early and playing in the diaper pail, or God knows what else?
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