It's 2:30. I just put Gaby down for her afternoon nap. She's great at napping, usually. But today, she won't stay down. She's fussing, she wants me. I've left her sleeping on our bed today. She has a crib, which we use, sometimes. But she likes our bed best, so today she's there. I have laundry piling, dishes to wash, floors to scrub, and I can hear my 5 year old dumping out a bucket of cars from the bottom of the stairs.
And then Gaby cries.
I close the dishwasher, half emptied and sigh at the dishes staring at me. I go to her. She's red faced. her tiny hands balled into flailing fists. She's wearing a green shirt with pink lettering and flowers on it. It looks great on her. I smile at how cute she looks. That sweet face, scrunched and squalling.
I pick her up, cooing at her. "It's OK Gaby it's OK." I say over and over again. I sing a little song "Gabriella Grace, she has the cutest face. Little Gabriella Grace." She likes it, no matter how bad the lyrics are. I carry her down stairs. My big kids, Hannah and David are out in the yard. I could use their help, but they're too absorbed in their game to come in. They don't even hear me call.
Frustrated I put Gaby in her chair. Some days it works, some days it doesn't. She doesn't like to be alone. She'll stay there if David sits with her, or if Hannah comes and holds her hand or a toy for her to grab. But not on her own. She fusses again. "heh aheh aheh".
I have to at least sweep the floor before I sit. I have to do something. The hall way from the front door is full of shoes the kids pulled from the closet, car seats James left the night before. There's wood chips from the play ground on my mat, a pile of laundry at the foot of the stairs and a drive through cup on the hall table. The front door is open. Our mess visible for all to see.
I grab my sling. It's a wrap, navy blue and long. I've had it since David was only weeks old. It's familiar, and comfortable, the fabric soft in my hands. Gaby is still calling. I walk towards her. She's looking at me. Her arms are out, she reaching for me. "Pick me up!" I know that's what she means.
She sees the sling in my hands, and stops fussing. She keeps her arms out for me. I start to wrap the fabric around my body. Quick and expertly like only hours and use of practice can bring. Over my shoulders, around my middle. I slow to double the long fabric back around to my front. She's irritaed at me, I'm not moving fast enough. And she tells me so. I tie the knot, once, twice. It's tight.
Then I lift her from her seat, my hands holding her under her waiting arms. She grins at me. This is what she wanted. I hold her tight against me as I lift her to my shoulder, slipping one chubby leg through the sling, spreading the fabric across her back and bum. Then the other. She sighs, content as her weight settles against me. I kiss her downy hair as I raise the middle rail of fabric around her.
This has taken me no more than a few minutes. I grab my broom, red with a black handle. David and his friend run through the front door to the trampoline out back. I sweep. The shoes are tossed away, not neatly, but then I close the cupboard and I can't see the imperfection. I put my diaper bag away, lift the pile of laundry upstairs, and tie up the full garbage under the sink.
Gaby is still with me. I hug her tight to me for a moment, my solid arms wrapping around the cloth holding her to me. I let go, and she is still there, tight against me. I kiss her head again. It is soft against my lips. Her warmth seeps into me, her smell calming me.
And then we move on, together.
We have practiced attachment parenting since David was hours old and it broke my heart to put him in the cot beside my hospital bed. Our children have stayed with us, in our bed, in our arms. We encourage independence, but have never hesitated to be there with them. I've always insisted on putting them in their own bed at least to fall asleep and until their first feeding. Sometimes this can be 12 hours, sometimes 5 minutes. It's all on them, completely child led. Dr. Sears says that how you sleep should be based on what works best for you and your baby ie your family. Our 5 year old still crawls into bed with us, and we don't kick him out when he needs us. Our three year old comes in every morning needing snuggles before Daddy heads to work. She's more independent and likes her own bed to stretch out in while she sleeps. Our 4 month old has been our best sleeper yet. Some nights I bring her in with me just because I miss her. She hasn't asked for me, or needed me. I needed her.
I had asked someone about Gabys sleeping, someone I considered and "expert". I told her she slept beautifully in her own bed, hardly needing me for her sleep. She told me I was wrong and placed a great deal of anxiety in me. I then asked someone else who in my opinion is an "expert". She laughed and said if she's happy then you should be too. She told me Gaby's independent sleeping was a blessing and not to worry, she'd let me know when she wanted and needed me. Which was true. Dr Sears says the same thing.
It's my philosophy to be there for my baby when she wants me. To do for her what she needs, when she needs it. To encourage her independence, but to have her know, above all else, that I love her, and want her, need her, and will be there always.
