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?”
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?”
HA HA...oh my. Found your blog through a comment on another blog. Anyway... Have a 1 month old and this is the story of my life. I guess my 2 year old was the "easy" baby because my sweet little Faith seems to be the fussy,gassy one. We are working with the dr.'s to try and solve the mystery, but your post is just the spitting image of my life right now, thanks for writing it. Sometimes I feel like I am the only one... especially in the wee hours of the night when I am totally exhausted :)
ReplyDeleteRight....on....the.....pulse. :) Let me know when these are on the shelves.
ReplyDeleteI laughed SO hard I just fell out of my chair. You are beyond gifted at writing. Thank you for posting this. Pure awesomeness. Is there a charge for awesomeness?
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