Ava can wave-a! She waves hello and goodbye, and at the dogs and the bathroom-baby (the one who lives in every bathroom in the house, with the bathroom-mom and bathroom-dad). It’s such a cute addition to her little bag of tricks.
In other news, I was reading through all my posts yesterday, and couldn’t believe how upbeat I sound in most of them, especially the early ones. I can’t remember the first weeks with Ava very clearly (either my brain blacked it out because it was so awful and traumatic, or I was too tired to retain anything) but what I do remember is being an exhausted, weepy, anxious wreck.
The thought of having another newborn terrifies me. Being so suddenly enslaved to such a helpless creature and having my routines expunged and my self reduced to being a food source for six weeks (that is, until the creature shows some semblance of its own self) now seems like a bizarre torture ritual. It’s a journey I’m glad I went on, and it’s given me a newfound respect for myself and for Dylan, but doing it more than once just seems nuts.
I can’t wait for Ava to keep growing and coming into herself – I am really looking forward to the toddler years (Terrible Twos? Bring it on!) and watching her learn about our world. The thought of doing that with a tiny baby is horrifying.
But I am an only child and I am convinced that I missed out on fundamental lessons that people with siblings learn at an early age. How to stand up for myself, how to share, how to love. And I don’t want Ava to feel like she’s forever missed something as well. So there will be another baby, at some point. But at this stage, I’m thinking of adopting a three-month-old – or else waiting until Ava is in Grade 0, can tie her own shoelaces, and can pour her own cereal and milk, so when I’m crying over the breast-pump while Dylan changes her screaming sibling’s nappy, she’ll be able to do her own thing.