Who knew someone so tiny could be so troublesome? It’s almost like I have met my match.
I was down for the count for the whole month of March. But I crawled back into the ring in April for round two. We’re gonna do this. I mean, it’s not like I can return him or anything.
I was trying to think why this baby was so hard. Why I was so exhausted, why I could never get anything done. And then I did the math. As it turned out, I was spending 12 hours a day feeding him. I got seven and a half hours of sleep, but only in two and a half hour segments. And I had four and a half hours left over every day to do everything else. Which is entirely unreasonable. Fortunately, each little improvement made it feel as if a huge weight was lifted. Now things that would have seemed unbearable seem shockingly doable. For instance, my husband asked how I was feeling and I said, “Oh, great! Having strep has left me feeling so refreshed!” Seriously, it was like a vacation.
Up until recently, the baby had to be held upright during all of his feeds because of his reflux. Then he had to be held for a half hour after his feeds. And, of course, he was pooping constantly. It seems like just when I would get him to sleep he would explode his britches. Then I would lay him down to change him and he would projectile vomit over all of his clothes. And it was back to square one. Now that he isn’t puking his guts out I can have the children take turns feeding him. I would like to be the one who feeds him, but efficiency is a cruel mistress. I get to hang out with the breast pump instead. Which, by the way, is an evil little machine.
Still, we’re making progress. All the little hard things just make more muscle. It was like my life had gotten too easy and God was like, “Drop and give me 100!” And while you’re in the middle of your reps the baby gets RSV, the cap on your front tooth falls off (and you eat your temporary in your breakfast), you get strep throat, mastitis twice, the baby develops smoker’s cough, you have upwards of 20 appointments, that you somehow have to manage by yourself with seven kids, the baby ends up in the ER at 1:00 in the morning, has the nerve to fail his swallow study, and you never get to see your husband because he has soccer five days a week, because that’s just perfect timing. Seriously, by the end of this, I will be invincible. Just try me. Baby.