I've always been on the receiving end of the mother/daughter relationship. You know, the good side--the daughter side.
But I find myself standing on the wrong side of the winners circle staring at my female heathen in awe and horror.
Awe: She's really cute, a great snuggler, and is a genuinely happy baby.
Horror: She's playing me like an old, well tuned violin.
Punk has recently learned to crawl. Or so I've been told by my husband, who has actually seen her crawl. But when I'm around, she lays there, flapping her arms and legs and shrieking until I finally (twenty minutes later) break down and pick her up.
She'll have eaten just a few minutes before I get home, but when I walk in the door, the boobs better be out and in the nursing position or the child is frantic and inconsolable.
When Punk sees me, she must have me. She will lunge out of her daddy's arms, grab handfuls of my hair, and then shimmy over and up any obstacle to reach me, where she will plan full, open mouthed, tongued kissed on my face until she finally finds my mouth. (I hoped we'd be close, but not that close!)
If I'm eating it, she wants it. If I have it, it must be interesting, so she wants it. If I'm doing it, I must stop it because nothing is as important and devoting my entire undivided attention my my own Baby Bin Laden.
I'm not exactly a mama novice. My boys weren't like this. They were happy to see me, but not obsessive, clingy, "oh my God child let me breathe" kind of babies.
I'm being held hostage by a twenty pound chunk of baby flesh that will brook no arguments, will not barter for my release, and refuses all offers of ransom.
If this is the mother/daughter dynamic, I'm in big trouble.
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