It’s been a rough week.
Last night, I was all set to make a funny, lighthearted “what I’m drinking” post to commemorate the Super Bowl and Kenzie’s 8-week birthday, except…I was on my feet all night, and all I ended up drinking was water. My darling little angel decided she wanted to cry for hours and hours and hours. The only thing that helped soothe her was endless laps around the house. I’d start to sit down and somehow she’d KNOW and start to wail again. We’ve worn ruts in the carpet.
Happy two month birthday, kiddo.
Remember a month ago how I said she was so, so good? Well, someone stole that baby and replaced her with one that hates me. In her defense, she does have these really cool episodes of happiness where she smiles, laughs and has conversations with me in baby chatter. But then she turns on me and starts wailing for no discernible reason.
She has different cries, and often we can tell a fucking-feed-me cry from an I-need-to-take-a-dump-so-bad-it-hurts cry from a you-should-have-put-me-to-bed-an-hour-ago cry, and these are somewhat easily resolved, but sometimes she’s fed, burped, diapered, rested and warm, and still screams like she’s getting paid for it. Someone please reassure me this doesn’t last forever…
Add to that the continued lack of sleep (up to 4-5 hours or so a night, but still seriously lacking), and the fact that my husband’s had to work a string of 12-hour days, and you have a mom on the brink of insanity. I sort of understand now why some people shake their babies and drown them in bathtubs and say the devil made them do it. (Because the BABY is the devil.) This is why I think all those “16 and Pregnant” chicks should have had abortions. It’s hard enough to be a good mom when your baby was wanted and planned. If you’re resentful and not very smart, a screaming baby can take the wind out of your sails real fucking fast.
Dude, but seriously? I love her so much it rips me apart. She’s the only person I’d jump in front of a train for. I’d MURDER any of you people to keep her from breaking a nail.
I’ve also realized a whole new kind of neurosis in motherhood. In my former life, I worried about nothing. I was probably too casual for my own good. I only worked hard enough to not get fired. I spent money like I had some. I drank beer whenever I wanted. I didn’t worry about getting fat. I didn’t ever make to-do lists or write down my goals or make vision boards or stress about my self-worth. I lived. I breathed. I was totally fucking zen without even trying. Now? I’m a bundle of nerves.
I still put my ear to the baby monitor 37 times a night to make sure it’s working. When she’s napping too soundly, I poke her to make sure she’s still alive. And the other day in Trader Joe’s, I heard a baby crying and nearly had a panic attack.
I haven’t even really wanted to go anywhere because it involves packing up the baby and all the miscellaneous crap she requires, but most of all, DRIVING with the baby in the car. I make excuses. It’s raining, the baby will get wet. It’s too sunny, the baby will go blind. It’s too cold, the baby will die. Neither I nor the baby breathed outside air for weeks on end. The only place we went was the doctor’s office for her one-month checkup.
Then finally I went batshit enough to venture out with her in her stroller. I fully anticipated her throwing a crying fit a mile from home and all our neighbors stepping out on their lawns to shake their heads at what a horrible mother I was. What happened? We got a mile from home and she sacked out in the stroller and slept the whole way back.
And the other day, I schlepped the baby out for coffee with another of my worthless unemployed mom friends. I insisted we go at 3:00 in the afternoon so nobody else would be there in the event she threw a crying fit, which I fully anticipated. And all the baristas behind the counter and all the patrons behind their laptops would stop and stare and shake their heads at what a horrible mother I was. What happened? We sat down and she sacked out in the carrier and slept the whole time.
Okay, now that I’ve vented, here are some of the good things:
As I said before, baby chatter. It’s calling cooing and that’s really the perfect word for it. She makes an “O” with her tiny little delicate lips, and goes “oooooh!” and then smiles like she knows she just did something brilliant. I can’t get enough and there’s no shortage of retarded things I will do to get her to make that sound.
I think my baby is going to be a redhead (which probably explains the attitude). Her eyes have so far stayed blue, but her hair is different and weirder every day. She was born with a full head of dark blonde hair that got wispy and kinda fell out (although we have no idea where it went). Now it’s coming back in very fine and kind of a strawberry blonde. (My husband has brown hair but his beard is kind of reddish.) Kenzie, a variation of MacKenzie, is Scottish for light-skinned (RACIST!), so clearly, the name fits. I’ve just been calling her the pale one.
I always said before I had a baby that I didn’t want to have one of those trashed baby houses where everything is a mess and there is baby stuff everywhere. Well, now I have one of those trashed baby houses and there is baby stuff everywhere…and I don’t give a fuuuuuck.
But for a few exceptions, she’s a fantastic sleeper. She goes to bed sometime between 10 p.m. and midnight and usually sleeps straight through until 4 or 5 in the morning. (The other night, I patted myself on the back for getting her down by 9:40. Then she woke up at 3 a.m. and I kicked myself in the crotch.) Hungry or not, she’s pretty much ready to get up by 7 a.m., but she will usually have a good nap in the late morning and again in the early evening. (These are the times when I hurry up and smoke crack, masturbate and mainline vodka.)
We did have a terrible string of days around week six when she had a growth spurt and woke up FAMISHED every 2-3 hours. It was rough because I had it in my head that she couldn’t possibly be hungry, so I wasted a lot of time trying to console a half-starved baby back to sleep. Finally I got smart and just let her guzzle milk to her heart’s desire. I’m glad that’s over, and so are my nipples.
Last, and best: when she sucks on her pacifier in her sleep and it makes this little clicking noise, my heart fucking melts.