Look Who's Stalking

There is only one thing in the world that my darling 2 year old will pick over me (unless she’s in a real needy mommy moment), and that is the outdoors. Thank you sunshine because I would be writing this blog with her attached to me (like most of the others I’ve written) if it weren’t for you. As soon as it is time for her to come inside, I will be typing one handed again. I better get a move on it.

My youngest babe, I’ll call her CG, (that’s not what I really call her but it will work for the purposes of this post) is a stalker baby. She won’t leave me alone. Stalks me day and night. My niece calls her a “Stage 5 clinger.” I’d say she’s moved up to a 9 by now. It’s bad. I’m sure I am mostly to blame because I am a softy. She is still nursing (hey I’d be considered normal in other parts of the world so no judgy please my Yankee friends) and she co-sleeps. My older children nursed and somewhat co-slept, but I was able to break them of both at younger ages than CG.

I believe it has gotten worse over the last month because I started a new full time job. I’ve only worked part time since her birth, so she is not used to the long hours away from me. I walk in the door and am greeted by, “Mo-mmy!” With big toddler arms ready to wrap around my neck. Precious isn’t it? Just wait, she hasn’t hit stalker mode quite yet. I greet the rest of my family, while little footsteps follow me (and they’re getting closer). I set my things down but if I haven’t picked her up by this time, (I’ve been home probably 75 seconds, which is a long time when you’re a stalker baby) CG loses it. She’ll start the long armed baby stomp. (Picture a toddler-sized orangutan doing the River Dance). And she’ll whine, cry, blubber and wail until I pick her up. Which takes me another 75 seconds because I must change out of my work clothes. If I am going to have a barnacle attached to me then there is no need to be wearing business casual.

So she gets her lovies and cuddles and all is well with the world. AS LONG AS I AM SITTING RIGHT NEXT TO HER UNTIL IT’S TIME FOR ME TO LEAVE FOR WORK THE NEXT MORNING. That’s right. I get up to get a drink and guess who’s on my trail faster than a damn bloodhound? If I sneak into the bathroom to have some peace and a little reading time? Well it’s not long before little CG has discovered my hiding place and starts poking things under the bathroom door. (It’s an old house and the door does not touch the floor). Have you ever seen the old TV horror classic Trilogy of Terror starring Karen Black? There is a scene where Karen Black’s character Amelia shuts herself in her bathroom to get away from the Zuni Fetish doll (known as the Yi-Yi Monster in my family.) So the Yi-Yi Monster takes his little knife and starts waving it under the bathroom door to get at Amelia’s feet while she screams her annoying head off. The scene in my bathroom when my little stalker is waving one of her little toys under the door always makes me think of the Yi-Yi Monster. Only I don’t scream, but I do whine my annoying head off. I whine things like, “Go away CG. Can’t mommy have some peace? Go find daddy. Hey look Caillou’s on! Wanna watch Toy Story? Have daddy take you outside (that one works sometimes. It doesn’t always make daddy happy, but he’s pretty outdoorsy too, so he mostly doesn’t mind.) What happens most of the time though is one of CG’s older brothers decides to open the bathroom door for her because, “Mommy, she wants you.” Gee thanks little dude. I didn’t notice.

Bedtime is a terrible time. If I’m not around, she’ll go to sleep for daddy no problem. But when I’m at home, (which is pretty much 365 nights a year, but who’s counting?) it’s all about nursing herself to sleep. Still. 2 Years Later. There must be high fructose corn syrup in these puppies because I have to use a lot of force to dislodge her Pitbull grip on them. How the heck am I ever gonna wean this girl? Anyway, once she finally falls asleep, usually in my lap while I am online, social networking, I have to get her out of my arms and into bed all while keeping her in a slumber. It is not an easy task. I tiptoe (well as much as one can tiptoe while holding a 25 pound baby) to the bedroom, which is really pointless since we live in an old house with hardwood floors. I look like I am dodging laser beams as I try to avoid the creakiest parts of the floor. Then every single door squeaks when it opens. It’s like an old Vincent Price film in this house.

If I make it to the bedroom and she hasn’t wiggled, then I know I am in the home stretch. Just have to lay her down and press my arms deep into the bed to remove them from around her without her noticing. Oh it’s so nerve-wracking. So I place her down but hover over her for a minute so she won’t detect a sudden cold snap from mommy removing her warm arms. Now, if I can get to a standing position without any CG movement, then I am usually good to go. There has been the occasion when I accidentally knocked the remote onto the floor as I turned to leave. Man does it ever suck when that happens. I have to start the whole process over.

When morning hits and my alarm goes off, I have to battle the hardwoods again. I roll to the edge of my bed, (I want to make the least amount of mattress movement and rolling seems to be the best method) and slowly put my feet on the floor. If I’m smart, (which is never) I will have laid my undies out the night before so that I only have to grab them and head to the shower. Nope. Not smart. I have to open my dresser drawer which has the potential to wake the sleeping Yi-Yi Monster if I don’t do it just the right way. Can’t be too fast or too slow. Once I make it to the shower, one of two things happens. I either get to enjoy the nice warmth of the water and peace of being alone. OR I hear the creaky floors and the squeaky door and see a teeny little head full of matted hair and crazy eyes peering at me from behind the shower curtain while fighting off the water sprinkles that are lightly pounding her face. Yep! Some mornings she finds me. And until she gets her cuddles and Memmies, (her name for mama’s milkies) she will shadow my every movement and beg for me to "Hold you. Mommy hold you.". 

So I give in. Again and again and again. I hope I don’t come home to my pet rabbit boiling in a pot on the stove one day. That would be terrible. No, just kidding. We don’t have a pet rabbit. But we do have several dust bunnies that may be in danger thanks to stalker baby on the loose. Boiling a dust bunny might be interesting though. Hmmm. I joke about CG. I mean, she does cling to me, but she is also a loving, funny and darling baby girl. She will pet my hair and tell me, “Good try mommy, good try.” As though I’ve just lost on Jeopardy. She also has a great sense of humor and laughs quite a lot. I probably shouldn’t complain and enjoy these little moments with my lastborn because one day she will be embarrassed to be seen in the same city as me and I will be crushed. Damn I can’t get sentimental or I'll never get this baby weaned. NEVER.