When Franklin was born, we lived in a very large house by the ocean. We had tons of space, but very little storage. We had one amazing roommate and very large windows. It was a wonderful place to live. Steps to the ocean, 15 minute walk to downtown. The neighbours were owners of one of the best bookstores in the city and the lady who lived downstairs came up to visit me and take care of Franklin if I needed to sleep off the bazillion bouts of mastitis that I contracted.
We are living what seems to be the opposite. The home we have now is small (North American standard of small anyway), we are several kilometres from the ocean, we have very little space (tons of storage), no roommate and windows that are pretty big but that don’t open upstairs and which has caused me a few sleepless nights going over fire drill scenarios.
The lack of space means we don’t have a change table set up for Eliza. Big deal, right? Sure, but now that I have another child, I constantly compare experiences. I think it will be something I do until Eliza becomes more than a milk drinking blob and I quit thinking she’s actually baby Franklin all over again. Those wee hours of the morning can do wonders for your mind, but that’s an entirely different post.
Franklin’s change table had everything an over-achieving mother is supposed to display for her child – the black and white stimulation mobile as well as a variety of fish and a stash of rattles at the ready. It’s not that he was incredibly fussy and needed all of this, we just wanted him to be a genius in order to placate our own insecurities regarding our own precarious intelligence…
Eliza, however is getting a raw deal in comparison – at least until we move to the new place next month. She gets changed on the floor, the bed or the couch. Her stimulation? Well… Franklin’s silhouette? The frame of my glasses? My soothing rendition of Twinkle Twinkle Little Star?
When they say you are more relaxed about the second child, I hope I don’t actually fall into placing her in front of a window and letting my five year old babysit while he simultaneously cooks dinner so that I can have my beauty sleep (wow, that sounds nice…).
Actually, there is one pattern she is attracted to and it is right above the rocking chair where I feed her. A big Marimekko fabric stretched on a canvas that Dickson bought at a garage sale and is our favourite possession. I love these patterns. The one on our wall is a classic and I hope to be able to afford a few more designs in the future.
Recently, I found this clip on you tube (a slight addiction of mine, that you tube).