Like A Wagon Wheel

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Hello everyone! Are you tired? I am tired. The Milkmeister has decided that she loves to sleep on me and she hates to sleep in her shitty old bassinet* and so now I live my life with a baby constantly attached to me, like a cute little remora without all the fins n’ gills.

I just sneezed and the remora briefly woke up and glared at me. Rude.

*it’s actually a very nice bassinet but the Milkmeister has not yet learned to appreciate the finer bassinets in life.

 

today at her checkup the milkmeister STUFFED HER FOOT BETWEEN TWO OF MY SHIRT BUTTONS, AND IT GOT STUCK, AND WE LOOKED LIKE A PAIR OF ABSOLUTE RUBES IN FRONT OF THE NICE DOCTOR.

 

Anyway, today we are not talking about remoras*, we are talking about rocking babies.

 

ANY WAY YOU FEEL! I’VE ALWAYS WONDERED WHY PEOPLE READ THIS BLOG.

 

*although, did you know that they use ram ventilation to move fluid through their gills, so rather than bothering to ‘breathe’ they just rely on the speed of the water rushing past them to do the job? the water rushes past them because they spend most of their life glommed onto the bottom of a shark. lazy little fish, the remora.

Picking up a grizzling baby and carrying them jauntily around the room is a classic baby-calming technique, according to the movies and parenting literature. They’re not wrong, but here’s what they don’t tell you:

  • Success is not guaranteed. Sometimes you’re just toting an increasingly furious baby around your lounge for 10 minutes questioning your life choices.

  • When the baby inevitably ejects* a lahar of partially digested milk, the burp cloth will be on the other side of the room.

  • The baby is HEAVY. Good luck to your back. The Milkmeister is only 5kg but she feels like a sack of cement.

  • Your sack of cement is wriggling! Don’t drop it.

  • It’s less of a walk and more of a walk-dance-rock-bounce. The cool part is that if you have a mirror in your lounge, like I do, you can see how truly uncoordinated you look.

 

you may be rocking the baby but you certainly are not rocking the look.

also this PICTURE is a questionable baby-rocking technique if you ask me. what you actually want to do is rock that baby like the wind and rain, rock that baby like a sou- wait, where are you going?

 

*the other day my boss came to visit and during conversation the Milkmeister’s dad said cheerily, in relation to baby spit-ups, “Only three ejaculations today!” My boss said “I assume you are talking about the baby” and my husband paused roguishly and now I can never go back to work.

While we’re doing our walking tour of the lounge I often sing to the Milkmeister, because a) this is what they do in the movies, and b) I feel like I should be doing something, but talking to a grumpy baby is like drunk double-texting*, and going “SHHH SHHH SHHH” infuriates both me and the Milkmeister.

And so we sing. It seems to work. Also sometimes when I sing a particularly high or low note the Milkmeister peers into my mouth with interest, which is quite endearing.

*in that it doesn’t achieve anything apart from revealing the depths of your desperation

 

THIS WOMAN HAS GOT THE HANG OF THE POSE,, BUT SHE HAS FORGOTTEN THE BABY.

 

What do you sing to a grumpy baby*? As it turns out, absolutely anything, because you never know which song will be the one that suddenly transforms your angry tomato back into a delightful calm remora.

*wake up babe new sea shanty just dropped

When you’re casting about for a song to calm the tomato, the songs that float to the top of your brain are the songs that you know all the words to. Unfortunately, this means the Milkmeister subsists on a musical diet of big band standards, show tunes, power ballads, and hymns.

If you haven’t tearily sung ‘Guide Me O Thou Great Redeemer’ to your overtired, roaring baby while waiting for her bottle to heat up, do you even have a baby?

 

I AM WEAK BUT THOU ART MIGHTY, INDEED. this baby is about to show the congregation the true meaning of RIGHTEOUS FURY

 

At the moment the Milkmeister’s favourite songs - by which I mean the songs most likely to make her stop yelling and peer into my mouth - are New York New York, Lucille, and Javert’s Suicide.

Sometimes we change the lyrics to that last one to make it a little bit less grim.

 

who is this girl / what sort of baby is she / to wake up from her nap / when it is time for a sleep?

 

The challenging thing about singing to a baby is that you have to resist the urge to belt out the parts you usually belt out.

The other day I was treating the Milkmeister to the soothing sounds of Empty Chairs at Empty Tables and she was almost fucking asleep but then I accidentally forgot myself and went “my friends my FRIIIIIIENDS forgive me” and she woke up and shouted, presumably because of the emotional impact of the failed revolution.

 

DO YOU HEAR THE BABY SING? IT IS THE SONG OF ANGRY BABY

 

Anyway, there is no pithy revelation to end this post, except that I really should put the Milkmeister to bed or we’ll both be up at 3am trying to think of some fresh new lyrics to Eternal Father Strong To Save.

Oh my tiny remora forgive me!

 

Eternal Father, strong to save, / Whose arm hath bound the restless wave, / Who bidd'st the mighty ocean deep / please HELP this baby fucking sleep