For the first time in over four months, yesterday Alex didn’t take a dump. God love breastfed babies, but they shit almost constantly. In fact, the shitstorm usually makes it all over the front of poor Daddy’s shirt (which is freaking hilarious, really) or at least ruins the outfit he’s wearing. But yesterday, be it from stress or from the addition of rice cereal and applesauce not a rumble was heard in his tumble.
At 4 am, Alex woke up and had a meal. He promptly (thank you Jesus) fell back asleep, looking less like the Spawn of Satan with each passing moment. About 2.4 seconds after I turned the light off, I heard the familiar sound of some nasty sounding farts, and after that, he began to whimper pathetically.
Thinking he might still be hungry, I whipped out the tit and grabbed the babe. Once in his immediate vicinity, I smelled it. Either some rotten eggs had gotten into his pants or he had taken a dump. I did the side check and everything looked okay. I checked his back, and nada: no green mess to be seen.
I pulled him onto the changing pad and removed said diaper. Then I saw it. The most disgusting, foul smelling huge dump I had ever seen come out of my Ickle Baby. It went from his penis to his shoulder blades. The outfit was toast. No way I was cleaning that. Had I had some industrial strength cleaner, I’d have sprayed him down no questions asked.
Just desserts, I’m sure Dave would say, for constantly laughing at his unfortunate shit-baths.
I am absolutely not a baby person. If my kids could come to me via FedEx at about 6-9 months old, I’d be a totally happy camper. This would spare me the life-sucking pregnancy period as well as newborn hell and I’d probably actually be able to shoot sunshine and flowers out of my butthole. At least in my mind.
In that vein, I always felt relieved that no matter how difficult Alex is during the day (read: screamy each time we try to do something out of the house or out of his routine) at least he slept decently at night.
Well, ha ha ha, looks like my ass was hanging out there.
Because starting at the beginning of July, he stopped sleeping a 5-6 hour stretch at night and began waking several extra times during the night. Which sucked ass. And I whined about it. Let’s be clear: 4+ months of constant sleep deprivation = you exist in a constant dream-like state. For example, I was trying to “beep” Alex’s nose the other day, and I kept hitting his cheek by accident. I finally stopped when I nearly missed “beeping” his eye. Needless to say, I try not to drive anymore. I’m dangerous.
So, yeah, instead of reversing his sleep regression, it’s gotten worse. Since Sunday, he has started waking up and having a difficult time getting back to sleep starting at 2 or 3 AM. I have tried using formula, rice cereal, applesauce, baths, tylenol, gas drops, and am soon about to try whiskey (likely for me, not him, but if he likes it…).
To say that I am upset is a gigantic understatement. To say that I am even more exhausted than I ever thought possible is an even bigger understatement. To say that I have seriously considered leaving the baby in his crib alone and running away to a motel is the damn truth.
I don’t know what to do here. The childcare books I have don’t have any good suggestions that I haven’t already tried. His pediatrition told me that “babies sleep when they need to” and couldn’t offer any suggestions. Taking shifts isn’t quite fair, as Daver does have to work every day. My mother comes each morning to watch Alex while I sleep, but 2 extra hours ain’t quite cutting it.
Like anything with children, I know that this too, shall pass, but seriously not soon enough.
If you had asked me 7 years ago what I’d expect my world to look like when I turned 27, I seriously doubt I’d have seen myself as a mother of two (!?!). Growing up, although my mother did stay home, “housewife” was a dirty word and something I’d never have wanted to become. But you know what they say, if you want to make God laugh, tell him your plans.
Nevertheless, here I am. Degreed in a field I’ve always hated. Staying at home day after excruciating long day. Occasionally I am the person you glare at when you go to Target, complete with squalling baby and snivelling first-grader. Yes, I am aware of how obnoxious this is. Those bags under my eyes have been well earned, I promise. And no, I didn’t look in the mirror before I went out. Sorry about the smell. I’ll shower tomorrow.
Some days are diamonds, some are rocks, and all are unique. Well, almost all of them. Since Alex has been born, my life feels like one four-month long day. Want to expend some of my energy? Ask me what I had for breakfast. I HAVE NO IDEA. But I will die trying to remember.
Damn, I really need to take up a speed habit.