Excerpt from "The Black Hole"

I have almost finished this chapter. Let me know what you think. Is this a realistic portrayal of life with a newborn? For those of you that have not had kids... sorry to scare you like this. Go find a happy place. 

A Black Hole Sampler
You’ve just fallen asleep. It’s midnight. Forty-five minutes later you hear your husband’s baby screaming as if someone has burnt her with a cigarette. But you know there aren’t any smokers in the house. That can’t be it. She’s not hungry because you just fed her an hour ago. That can’t be it. Did I eat too much chocolate? Who cares! I will NEVER give up chocolate. That is definitely not it. Maybe she’s dying. Better get in there right way. She doesn’t appear to by dying, but when you pick her up she doesn’t stop screaming. Why is her tummy all bloated? You burped her for a solid 38 minutes after the last feeding so how could she be gassy? But she’s pulling her legs up to her chest in discomfort as if she is withholding some serious tootage.
You try all the methods the books offer up for a gassy baby (including having her ride a pretend bicycle?) further ticking off the little insomniac. So you try rocking her, singing to her, swaddling her, shushing her and swing dancing. You hold her sideways, over your shoulder, facing outwards and upside down. It’s a no go. You’re a rookie – you can’t really tell if the diaper’s wet or not. So you change it. Six times. You try giving her seven different pacifiers (again), but she spits them out as if they taste like raw sewage (because we all know what that tastes like). Then Mt. Saint Helens erupts out the back door. And up the back. Time for another diaper change, 180 wipes and a new outfit. She is still crying. Perhaps she’s teething, because that’s what perfect Moms with perfect babies say every time their angels cry. Time to pull out the hard liquor and wipe it on her gums. Your inconsolable baby is now drunk and screaming even louder. (A shout out to those old wise women who told you about that no-longer-acceptable treatment for a teething baby.) Exhausted and desperate, you decide to whip out the abused udders again because everyday is a possible “growth spurt,” right? She is drinking as if she is famished… for about 15 seconds. Then she falls asleep… until you put her back in crib. Back to hysteria.

So you do this shenanigan five times until you finally figure out something that works. Until two hours later when you hear that crying once again. And it’s not your husband. He is fast asleep. You hit him over the head with a hammer and dump cold water on him. It’s no use. He is unwakable. You can feel the tension in your neck and your anxiety level is off the charts. You just need a little more sleep. You had just gotten to the drool stage of your sleep cycle and now this AGAIN! The desperate thoughts begin to leak out of your subconscious. “What have I gotten myself into? I thought I wanted to be a Mom, but WHAT IS THIS? Can I just drop her off at the fire station for a few nights? Did my Mom really go through this with me? If so, I love her and she is awesome and I wonder if she wants to come over and help me RIGHT NOW!? Why does Cindy look so happy and alert when she comes to MOPS with her two-week old? Why am I not enjoying this? Those books are dumb. I will never have another child. My husband has it so easy. He is a total jerk for not helping me right now.” At some point the desperate prayers come into play. “Lord, please help me. Lord, please just give me a few more hours of sleep. Jesus, can you babysit?”

Desperate Moms Forget Things

Like picking up their neighbor's kid at preschool. Yeah, did that on Wednesday. So sorry Cindy for leaving your boy at school. Feeling pretty good about that.

The Black Hole

Working on a chapter called "The Black Hole." It's about the newborn stage where sleep deprivation and "what the heck am I doing?" reign. Hope to have something posted for you in the next week or so. In the meantime, I am a posting mad women on my other blog and some of that stuff will go in the book. I am going to try and post there at least every other day. Yikes! We'll see how long desperate mama can keep it up.
This picture has nothing to do with anything. Just thought it was a cool pic. Oh, and those are my kids and my cat.

A sneak peek at the book I am writing...

Chapter One: Welcome to Motherhood
The room was quiet and sterile. White walls, white floors, bad lighting and a small window overlooking the parking lot. I had just birthed my son, Elijah, the day before. And now I was enjoying a moment without phone calls, visitors, nurses and the like. My husband had snuck away for a shower back at home and the pediatrician had taken Elijah away for some tests. I was just starting to relax when all of the sudden I felt it. The urge. I knew there had to be a reason they were pumping me full of stool softeners. The time had come to for me to come to grips with that reason. I made my way to the bathroom as the feeling of discomfort increased. I squatted cautiously over the lovely white toilet (where are the seat covers in the postpartum rooms?) so that I would not be germified by OPP (other peoples placentas). This in and of itself is a sight to see, a true challenge and workout for my 5’1’’ self. Squatting on my tiptoes, I proceeded with the inevitable. At least, I tried. The pain got worse. Tears welled up in my tired eyes. This hurt. Were the stool softeners expired or something because they certainly did not seem to have done their job? There I was – tired, alone, hormonal and fat. And now I was stuck in the bathroom.

I looked over at the wall where an enticing contraption hung ever so sweetly. The words jumped out at me, “Pull cord in case of emergency.” This was an emergency. I pulled. Two nurses came rushing in within seconds, panting in anticipation of what they would find. I will never forget the look of disappointment on their faces when they saw me squatting over the toilet in tears. “Um, I think I have poop stuck halfway in and halfway out. And uhhh, it hurts really bad. And I don’t know what to do.” They had hit the jackpot with this cord pull. You know they wanted to ro-sham-bo for the follow up on this call. One of the nurses politely said, “Okay. I will check you.” Fabulous. She checked me and then broke the news. “Sweetheart,” she said in an I feel sorry for you kind of way. “That’s not poop. That’s a hemorrhoid.” Welcome to motherhood.



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