Just as quickly as things began to fall into a routine, I saw a side of you that is dark and terrifying in its capacity for making me question how much I enjoy motherhood.
Don't get me wrong; bring your mother is the single greatest joy of my life (followed closely by my journey with God, and oh, hey, can't forget the thrill of athletic competition). It's just that when you don't poop for three days straight (perfectly normal, I KNOW), and then those three days of pooplessness are followed by three days of irritable, writhing, screaming baby, I ask God for my Lexi back.
Oh, those three days were not fun. Anxiety rose, fear escalated. What is WRONG with my baby? I kept questioning. And without fail, from multiple sources, came some variation of one of the following responses:
"She's just being a baby."
"Did you maybe eat something that's bothering her?"
"If you think this is bad, you've got another think coming. So-and-so's child projectile vomited for six months and he turned out just fine."
Alright, I get it, I get it. I bring it on myself by complaining about your fussiness, a trap that is much easier to fall into than joyfully accepting one of the trials I've been given and trying to exercise peace, patience, and learn a lesson. But baby, wow. When you finally managed five EXPLOSIVE diapers in one day then fell asleep in my arms that evening, all cocooned up in a soft white blanket like an albino baby burrito, I felt like I had YOU back. My sweet, angelic, hungry-hungry-hippo babe.
And it hits me: the hard times, the screaming, crying, inconsolable, reminds-me-of-drunk-crying-inconsolable-high-school-girls times, they're a part of you. There will be lots about you that I won't be particularly tickled about (like, say, your lazy middle-of-the-night latch - ouch!) just as I'm sure there'll be plenty about me that doesn't suit your fancy. There probably already is. Like all the food I drop on you. Hey, I have to eat while you eat!
Despite three bad days that I know won't be your only three but that have shown me that we can get through rough patches, this week was ripe with highlights.
First, though, can we talk about the head butting? It's adorable, but when you're trying to eat and you continually head butt my breast, it makes for a pretty choppy meal, which inevitably leads to hiccups or - sweet Lord, no - the dreaded GAS. Gas that makes you contort your body like some sort of pretzel-turning contortionist.
Your one-month checkup was this week. I know, it's been six weeks... so sue me. You're now 10 lbs 5 oz, and you'ce grown two whole inches! You also began to emit your first high pitched squeaks this week - heart melting, unless they lead way to cries. There is something about your cries that just break my heart - they hit a place I never knew existed before. And the hardest part... when I can't fix the problem. When you're crying, and I try EVERYTHING to no avail, my heart just breaks. I know you're in pain, and I want to soothe you, but nothing works. I know you'll be okay, since it's just gas, but gas causes you so much anguish.
And when it's over, and I get a little smile out of you, my heart swells.
And then you projectile vomit all over me.
Love,
Mama
I called it the 6 week ish phase. Nayla went trough horrible crying fits at her last feeding (10ish) at that age. She couldn't get those darn burps up. Thanks goodness for a very patient husband who tapped her back until it came out. I remember one nigh it was almost 1 hour. It breaks your heart and make you a little batty. The good news is that it does not last forever :)
ReplyDeletePS: Congrats on your Father's Day run, you are looking like you were never pregnant. Awesome job!!!