See that picture in the previous post? That sweet, beautiful baby is crying right this minute. His dad is carrying him right now because I’ve been his slave all day and for some reason I just couldn’t handle one more of his little baby kicks as I hold him in my lap.
The louder he cries, the louder my music gets. I am a bad mommy.
I took a shower today when Sparky got home. It was so necessary. Last night I tore apart the bedroom looking for the origin of a scent I could only describe as burned sugar with a hint of halogen incinerated bug. It was me. Yet my shower had to wait until Sparks got home because SOMEONE cannot be left for a moment. In the shower I could hear him crying. Every time Sparky walked by the bathroom with that little guy, I turned up the temperature of the water. By the time I got out my skin was pink and squeaky clean and my muscles a little looser.
You know, the first week I was fooled, tricked even. Max was delightful. He’d eat and sleep in his cradle. I was able to get up early in the morning, get dressed, do 30 minutes of housework before he woke up. I was even able to put on mascara.
Then with the colic he was sleeping four to five hours solid. That lasted a week.
He liked the sling. I could wear him and do stuff. He hates it now. Screams the moment I try to put him in it. I’ve tried the three different positions this sling allows for infants. Nothing doing.
I’m in week five now. My hair is brushed perhaps every other day. That’s okay though because it’s always in a ponytail. I might have a moment to brush my teeth, but only if I demand it. The dark circles under my eyes are not from leftover make-up, but rather the every two hour wake up call. I’ve developed a neurosis. I know the moment I close my eyes, Max will wake up. Sparky won’t, but Max will.
Sparky and I walk around trying to figure out the un-figure-out-able.
Is he hungry or too full? Is he too hot or too cold? Does he have gas? Does his bottom hurt with those massive sharts? Is he overly stimulated or are we ignoring his development? Is his swaddle too tight, too loose? Should we watch TV with him in the room? What if he’s asleep? Awake, but turned away from the TV? Is the light to bright? Is it too dark? Are we feeding him too much? Not enough? Do I force him to sleep by letting him cry? Is he just too tired to sleep properly? What about his REM sleep? Can he get enough with his 45 minute cat naps? Am I a bad mom for putting him in the swing and letting him fall asleep there if he seems to like it?
The midwife came over and started sleep training him. I kept looking at the clock wondering when she was going to leave so I could go rescue him. She’s done this with new moms before, I suppose, and knew I’d be in there in a NY minute if she left before he was asleep. He cried himself to sleep and slept for four hours. But he did that little huh-huh of left over tears in his sleep and I cried as quietly as I could as I sat next to his cradle watching him sleep. Four guilt filled hours. I’m not doing that again for at least two more decades.
She told me to feed him only every three hours. I tried it. That isn’t really working. He’s eating when every he wants to. He’s only a month old. I’m not setting him up for obesity. Right?
I’ve decided that I’m not listening to her anymore. And she wears too much perfume. Max smells like her until I bathe him.
I have to say, I’m holding out on the BFing for 6 weeks. We’ll see after that. The village feeders I used to call breasts are insane. Let’s just say that when they leak, and oh what a glorious thing that is, my thighs get wet. The constant child nibbling at them is driving me crazy.
We are holding on for that miracle three month mark at which I had better get something pretty and sparkly.
Oh and Claire, I’ve gained weight since all I’m doing is eating crap that I can shove down my throat one-handed and I need those snickers at 3 am to keep me awake until Mr. Bright Eyes deigns to sleep again. So I guess I shouldn’t have been all happy about those pre-pregnancy jeans which, even though I technically weigh less, don’t seem so eager to zip up. And what’s with those stomach muscles not just jumping back into their place. Aren’t I working hard enough? Getting up at 6 am with Sparky to do stomach exercises seems like a cruel, cruel joke.
Then there are the moments when Max looks up at me to say “Hey, what’s up? Aren’t I the most adorable big eyed buglet? How can you NOT love me?” Really, he’s probably just so happy that last diaper was changed or that during the last feeding he wasn’t suffocated by the massive milk machines. But it’s those little smiles that make me smile and keep sanity within the apartment if it’s not in the same room.