Little Mika Moo. Where to begin with you …
The first 8-12 weeks of your life were a total nightmare. I lie. The first two or three weeks were cool – I thought I had the “two kids” business down pat. You never really slept that much, but I took it in my stride.
The proverbial shit hit the fan a couple of days (or weeks? I’m really not sure – it’s all a blur) before we went away on our December holiday to Port Alfred. You weren’t breastfeeding well. You were always grumpy. I took you to Magic Mike the Chiro and tried a bagajillion (credit to Emma Sadlier for that word) different formulas, colic remedies, reflux meds and anything else that was “safe” for me to experiment with. It sucked. In fact, it sucked so much that I came home from holiday with a shiny new disease. Post-natal depression. Yip. It wasn’t pretty. I lost the plot in Dr Maraschin’s rooms, blubbing all over his wife’s cardiganed shoulder and eventually went to see a fantastic Serbian (sssh, don’t tell Dad!) psychologist who prescribed some fantastic medicine that saved my life and probably also your Dad’s.
It was a tough pill to swallow (well, figuratively. Literally – it was a tiny little tablet that I could swallow with a bit of saliva. But anyway) – I couldn’t understand why I was so sad, when I had so much. You, your beautiful brother, your amazing Dad. Why was I sad? BECAUSE I WAS F%&KING EXHAUSTED, that’s why! Sheesh! I think I averaged 2 broken hours a night and possibly an hour’s nap during the day (on a good day) for almost 12 solid weeks. It’s a miracle I’m still here today, tikking away at my fancy backlit keyboard. It really is.
BUT, enough with the depressing stuff. Pun intended.
You are now almost 17 months old. You still wake up once, sometimes twice a night, but it’s bearable. You have your bottle and then pop right back off to sleep. Hell, you even say “tata” and wave your chubby little hand at me some nights. It’s SO cute. You still only have your top and bottom front teeth, so 4 in total. I think your brother was pretty much the same when it came to his teeth-to-age ratio. He’s got a BEAUTIFUL set of pearly whites now though, so I’m not worried about you still being toothless at 13.
Your repertoire of words currently consists of: Anna, out and “uh uh” (no). You call EVERYONE Anna, Dad and I included. You do understand instructions from Dad and I though – when I say “Gimme a KISS!” you open your mouth as wide as possible and
try to swallow me whole kiss me. If I ask you to take something to Daddy/Luca/Anna, you happily oblige. Unless it’s food and then you’ll have a taste first and only give it up if you’re not enjoying it.
Food. You LOVE food. But you love ALL food, unlike your brother who basically only eats food that’s white. You march off to the fridge, grab a peach and hand it to me to be washed, before devouring it. You hold a tub of Woolies blueberries in the crook of your arm and watch TV as if it’s a box of popcorn and you’re at the cinema, watching the latest animated blockbuster. You love cake. You ate every kind of cake at Ben’s 1st birthday party recently … so much that I was genuinely concerned about you puking all over my car on the way home. You love ALL food and you’re just like me in that you’ll try anything. I love that about you. You’re our little adventurer.
You adore your big brother and always want to do what he’s doing/have what he has/sit where he’s sitting etc. The two of you fight
constantly all the time non-stop sometimes, but occasionally there are the most awesome “moments” where Luca will do something for or to you that creates that look in your eyes … the look that someone gets when they honestly believe that THE MOST AMAZING THING has just happened. It’s beautiful!
While your brother always looks like the trendiest kid in town, with his skinny jeans and quirky t-shirts, you look like a hobo. All the time. Your signature look includes:
- wife-beater vests
- board shorts (or tracksuit pants or no pants at all)
- dreadlocked hair
- a manky bib (child, you drool. A LOT!)
- no shoes (sometimes just one shoe, or maybe a pair of your brother’s socks)
- a scrape/bruise on your chubby cheeks
It’s how you roll. You’re a rough-and-tumble little dude and that’s what we adore SO much about you. Perhaps Luca was just as strong, but as second-time parents, Daddy and I know that you won’t “break” so we just let you be. And you love it.
You giggle like an escaped mental patient. You have a dimple that tears at my heart-strings every time it appears. You also have a very dimpled butt that just BEGS to be kissed. When it’s clean … which is not often. You’re a daredevil and you’re fiercely independent … but at the same time you run to me to lift you into my arms when you’re scared or shy. Something tells me you’ll be the family’s protector. You’ll be big, and strong and you’ll love with no limits.
Just stay my little baby forever, okay?