If I were a prisoner of war, I’d have fourteen scratch marks on the wall. At one point I could count on the Geneva Convention to protect me from sleep deprivation. I’m lucky if I can brush my hair in the morning, let alone my teeth. Make-up? What’s that? My eyes are red rimmed and I’m pale inbetween my iron shots. I look like a test rabbit AFTER the testing. My wardrobe now consists of easy access tank tops. Not for a random feel up as it used to be, but to give the kid easy access. I am now a mom.
I am bone tired. These days I have to chose between eating something other than a cookie, like a meal that has to be cooked or sleep. The last time I had to chose between food or sleep was after a long night at the bars. Did I walk to McDonald’s for a cheeseburger and fries to absorb the alcohol or did I just crash? Do I down a power bar and sleep or make a meal? Who needs taste when sleep is an option?
These days, I’m shoving an entire slice of frozen pizza into my mouth as I dance a fussy infant around the house. Who knew I could FIT an entire slice of pizza in my mouth?
This is fucking hard. I have no idea why people have more than one. I have no idea how the species has survived because if it were up to me, we would have died out thousands of years ago. And you know what? I have no idea what I’m doing. All those books? the info has fled my head. I’m working off pure instinct. I hope we can sufficiently save for Max’s therapy bills because I have a feeling they’ll be expensive.
Breastfeeding is hard. He and I have the latch on down, but the constant kid on my boob is driving me nuts. Then he falls asleep and wants the boob for comfort. I can’t stand the nibbling, but I pull him off and he wakes up screaming. He does not want a pacifier because believe me, after my initial guilt for trying to pawn off the comfort to a synthetic item, I have no qualms now. Yet, he doesn’t want the the binky. He just wants the boob. He hates the binky.
Did I mention the mammoth sized boobs. I have to pump a little before I feed him just so he can get a good latch. It’s only been two weeks. I can’t imagine doing this for another 5.5 months, let alone years. And the pump? Can we just make the udder comparison? The indignity of it all.
That being said, Max is the sweetest smelling little bundle of love I have ever known. He gives me those sweet little smiles (I don’t want to hear it’s just gas. I’m up with him day and night, it doesn’t hurt to think those smiles are just for me.) and I melt. It gives me the ability to stay up another 45 minutes to rock him to sleep even though I’ve had only two hours sleep in the previous 24 hours. My heart breaks into millions of pieces for him. I never knew I could love so much. It’s debilitating.
And my dear friend coffee? Said adios. He went the way of the Dodo. If I drink coffee, Max drinks coffee. I made that mistake once. Easier to say goodbye to Java Joe than to stay up all night with a kiddo on the junk.
I have his birth story simmering. I just need more time to get it all down. Overall the hospital was an absolute nightmare of third world proportions. I’m not even kidding. I have witnesses. I left after 28 hours, no sleep, no attention from hospital staff for either Max or myself and terse phone call to Sparky to get his wife and his son the fuck out after they tried to take him out of the ward, in a car driven by god only knows to another facility to ultrasound his hips not because they thought there was actually anything wrong, but because Jeff and I both have trick hips. I was not allowed to accompany him. It was a big fat “not on your life are you taking my baby ANYWHERE.” He didn’t even have the right name on his wrist band that I had to insist on. And really, it’s not like there is an ultrasound machine in the maternity ward or anything
All I can say is that it was a good thing Max was healthy and the delivery was relatively easy because I have no idea what we would have done if there was a problem. It was so bad that I am still turning the entire situation over in my head. I will never have another kid in Germany.
I went home to my dear auntie and a Sparky who were able to actually hold the baby so I could use the bathroom. A follow up to Dr. G and a pediatrician and Max and I were given a clean bill of health.
In other good news, I am 15 pounds lighter than I was before I got pregnant. I can fit into almost all my pre-pregnancy clothes, save for my Calvins which I’m hoping to get into by 6 weeks. In bad news, I’m even more saggy than I was. So I’d say it was a wash. A good plastic surgeon and I’m good to go.
I’m off to sleep a little. Knowing Max, as soon as I close my eyes, he’ll be up again, but it’s worth a shot.