I wonder!

My mother, my sister and I have long known that every now and then, babies go crazy and become very difficult. When they emerge from these stages, they are doing a little more, understanding a little more and are slightly more grown-up than before.

But until Mrs Accident commented, I had no idea it was a "real thing."

She commented:
"Is he having a wonder week? Apparently these developmental weeks, when the kids go nuts and regress badly, are explained by health nurses to mums in almost every other state except Queensland. I reckon you should google it. It doesn't make him sleep better, but at least you know that it is a phase, and when to expect them!"

and I googled and found (from here):
Recent research has shown that there are predictable times during the first few years of a child's life when the child may be more demanding (fussier) than usual. These fussy times have been called the 'Wonder weeks' by some writers, because it is during these more difficult weeks that babies are making big steps forward in their development.

Thanks Mrs Accident, I have hope! That's exactly what I've found in the past. The problem is that once I've worked out that a baby is having a "Wonder Week", I promptly forget what the grouchy period usually means, and get surprised by the next one all over again. My brain is so small, and can only hold so much.

I think the term "Wonder Week" is brilliant. Because when you're in the middle of one, you WONDER how you will ever survive it.

Sometimes, things sail along nicely. Sometimes, it all gets hard at the same time. And that would be NOW.

I am still recovering from last week when Mr de Elba was away, but finding that during the days when he is at work, the deal is pretty much the same. And that's the way it should be, I guess. I am glad for his job and that he is so good at doing it.

But as many of you could relate to, when my husband is away, I am the sole receptacle into which the children pour their words, their words words words (my, these children can talk!)

I am the sole carer and the sole person who deals with every cry, every problem, and every whimper (except for the ones I choose to ignore.)

I am the sole audience for every fight, every tantrum and every cute thing that is said.

I am the sole cleaning lady, the sole nanny, the sole cook and the sole event manager.

I have poured myself out for the children, and the children have a tendency to take my availability and squeeze me out further. Then they twist up the remaining shreds of me and wring the final drips of sanity from my tortured soul.

Well, it's not quite that bad. Or is it?

As well, the dog is killing blue-tongued lizards, rats and blind worms that come in our yard (yay! about the rats, boo! and eww! about everything else.)

And Joseph continues on his Path to Wonder.

If this was a paid position, I'd qualify for stress leave. But to qualify for removal of responsibilities and allocation of time to rest from my current position would only come after some dastardly act of insanity, say, if I roamed the streets naked and shooting people at random dragging a little wagon of small, dirty, unfed de Elbas behind me.

But that sounds like a lot of hard work.

Instead, I'll hang on until things are easier. Nat and Anna-Lucia will cool off a little, and the dog will be wearing a muzzle 24/7 (if I have anything to do with it.)

And sweet little Joseph? He will be fully Wondered Out.