My 12 Pound Albatross

I can't put this baby down. And not in a good way. Except for sometimes. She is rather cute. But this constant holding makes it hard to do things like eat and drink and work and sleep and clean....and I could go on.

Ms. M napping on my lap

Seriously, if I so much as walk towards the baby swing she will recoil in protest and start to make sad faces like she hates me for even thinking about it. If I put her down anyway, she cries and confirms her hatred. Not really. But sometimes. Kind of. And way, way, way more than Hannah ever did. That kid could happily sit in her swing for hours. Not that I'd leave her there. But I could, if I were that kind of mom (I'm looking at you, cast of Teen Mom on MTV).

I can't tell if I'm doing something wrong. Like did I miss some window of exposing babies to places other than my arms? Like how lactation consultants spread lies about nipple confusion and giving babies pacifiers or bottles too soon so they will never breastfeed again? Am I making up this aversion to not being held to satisfy some deep psychological need to never eat with two hands again?

I imagine Dr. Sears would say this is how you are supposed to be with a baby. To that I say: Dr. Sears, you are an unscientific misogynist, and I hate your whole family. There. I said it. (but not as eloquently as others.)

I'm sure one day she will be a teenager and she will hate me because I won't let her wear the trendiest thing that also happens to be a horrible idea for teenage girls. And I will look back on the days where she wanted to be held all day, and I will miss those days. So for you, future teenage daughter who is mad at me, I will try to ignore my strong need for another glass of water and the lack of sensation in my right leg while you sleep on my lap.