Mr. Cranky Pants

I just remembered something. When my mom used to do daycare in our home, it seemed like mommies always went back to work when their babies were about six months old. This might have had something to so with the length of their maternity leave, but I'm re-discovering another truth: six month-old babies just aren't that much fun.

My little buddy turns six months old today, a fact that I find hard to believe. Was it really 6 months ago that the hubby took me to the hospital at 7 in the morning? Was I in the recovery room a half-year ago (to the minute), cuddling our new little bundle and trying to move my frozen legs so we could go upstairs? It doesn't seem possible. And yet here I am with a cranky little fellow half-way to his first birthday, and I'm trying desperately to figure out what I can do to make him happy. The last six months have, overall, been amazing. I love my sweet little man, and we have way more good days than bad. The last week, however, has been... less than blissful.

Is he teething? I really hope so, because at least that would mean that the end is in sight. I don't see any bumps on his gums, though. My mom says that six month olds get cranky because they can see so much going on around them, but they're not mobile yet- they can't get to all that cool stuff, and they get frustrated. That's a bigger issue- Mr. Cranky Pants (as he's affectionately known these days) rolls onto his tummy and holds his head and shoulders up very nicely, but he's a long way from crawling. A long, frustrating way from crawling. Whatever the cause is, he's CRAN-kay. If he's not asleep, he's grumbling, whining or crying. His Baby Einstein DVD keeps him occupied; I confess that I'm letting him watch more TV this week than I ever have before, just to keep him happy. Yesterday I made him a "train" out of a cardboard box and pushed him around the living room. That kept him happy for about 5 minutes, which I considered a huge victory. We try to read stories, but we only get about half-way through "Goodnight Moon" before he gets restless. He won't eat a good meal. He won't have a good nap. He won't play on the floor.

Am I complaining? You bet. For the record, I'm aware that I signed up for this job. I still wouldn't trade it for anything else. That doesn't mean I can't bitch about my bad days.

That said, it could be worse. There are good moments in between the whining and crying; a few days ago I was getting some big laughs when I bounced him up and down on my foot. And even the difficult times aren't all bad. Yesterday when my poor fellow couldn't sleep, I cuddled him during his whole afternoon nap just so he could get some rest. I really didn't care if it was spoiling him- he got some sleep, and I got to sit and watch him do it. Good deal.

I know there's a reason that he's upset. When I think that looking after a cranky baby is the hardest job around, I try to remember that being a baby is a lot harder. And I'm praying, for his sake and mine, that this stage passes REALLY soon!