Day 210: The Art of Distraction

Maddie and I just finished our morning workout. We bought a "pilates walking" dvd last week, although I really don't see how it has anything to do with pilates. Basically it's just walking. So each morning I strap her into the Bjorn and we walk 3 miles in the living room. We only stop to drink water (me) and mop up spit up (her). I have that Bjorn on so often it's ridiculous. When I finally take it off the unusual lightness feels like zero gravity or something. All I can say is that when I'm old and grey and calling her to take me in my wheelchair to seniors' bingo I had better not hear any complaints. Payback's a bitch, Mads.

I'm beginning to realize that life with baby is just one long series of distractions. Our pilates walking routine has little to do with fitness; it's really just another way to occupy her for a half hour. Keeping these little ones happy is an all-consuming task. When they're newborns it's tough because they can't see or do... anything. So you jiggle, bounce, rock, coo, run the tap, go for drives. As they grow your arsenal expands. You dance, sing, make faces, look at toys, shake pill bottles, crinkle old pasta bags. But you have to constantly cycle through all of these various distractions in order to keep their attention. Our day is divided into about a thousand 3-minute segments: We rattle the keys for 3 minutes, sing Baby Beluga for 3 minutes, look in the mirror for 3 minutes, shake a soup package for 3 minutes. And when all else fails, when I'm out of ideas and we're both beginning to panic, that's when I pull out the big guns: Baby Einstein. I worship at the alter of whoever created Baby Einstein. Hallelujah.

All of this is why baby toy companies are so profitable. And so cruel. They capitalize on our false hope. Even though I know better, somewhere deep inside of me I think that maybe there is a toy out there that will have the perfect combination of plastic and fabric, of bell and whistle, of colour and light. It will have the perfect number of flaps and tags, and they'll all be in the perfect places. And one day I'll find this toy and bring it home to Maddie and she'll look at it and sigh contentedly with the realization that this is what she's been waiting for all her life. And she'll sit and play happily for hours while I lie on the couch and read my book. This is the dream that occupies my subconcious every time I step into Toys 'R Us. And this is why my house is full of crappy toys that are entirely ignored while we instead play with the Kraft Dinner box.