I thought newborns were supposed to sleep A LOT. How do I forget these first few weeks every baby? They usually do. And it’s all great, but sometimes they DON’T. And then they don’t some more.
So Rebekah (7 weeks) had been awake crying from 7:20-11:40am. Don’t give me an idea to try. I don’t want to hear it. I’m sure it’s perfect and works every time. Yeah…I tried it. It didn’t work.
Fifth baby. Four hours. Trust me. I tried your idea. It didn’t work. I wasn’t in the mood for anyone’s solution or logic. I got in a stupid text-war with my husband.
I don’t know what it feels like to have bamboo shoots shoved under my nails. But I have an idea.
My last ditch effort was simply–lay her down and go put my head under a pillow in the next room.
She’s fed. She’s changed. She’s loved. She’s been rocked. She’s been swaddled. She’s been unswaddled. She’s been sung to. She’s been bounced. She’s been fed again. She’s been burped. She’s been…you name it.
I don’t care if you have a degree in child psychology. Go read your books.
I don’t care if you’re a doctor. Go take your pills yourself.
If you have been a stay-at-home to five babies, okay…I might talk to you. Just depends on how you approach me. I can leg-press 605lbs. Just a random fact.
So there I was on my knees. Ass up. Head buried. Sobbing and drooling, steaming up my sheet with my hot breath.
Silence. I unbury my head. Huh? I pop up like a snotty meercat. Is she…
I have the necessary skills for all kinds of jobs. I taught them to myself in the school of mom knocks. I could’ve been a spy. I could be a cop. I could’ve been a ninja. I could’ve been a contender. I could’ve been a great many things.
I know every spot that the floor creaks. I can dive roll without a noise. I can tighten every muscle and sprint so fast that my weight never reaches either foot. I can ooze across a wall. I can creep across the carpet on my belly. I can find out if she’s fallen asleep. She had.
I passed a mirror. Holy hell. I can’t be her. Not today. The last thing I wanted to do while Rebekah slept was shower and fix my hair, put on makeup and get dressed to go…nowhere. I wanted to collapse and sleep too.
But I can’t be her, this slob of a human, scraggly hair, bags under my eyes, no bra, splotchy face, baggy pajamas….especially not when Keith gets home. It’s bad enough to be emotional and fighting like a moron; I can’t be sloppy too. Must handle my shit ASAP.
Okay, I’m just going to see what all I can get done in as little time as possible. A game that I made up for my exhausted self. Just…start the stopwatch on my iPhone and…GO!
This isn’t an amazing transformation or anything. This is the reality of my day. This is how I decided to keep my own sanity and a little bit of self esteem.
I took a before photo. I took an after photo…26:42.14 later. Shower, shaved legs, fast all-over lotioning, blow dry, chi iron, quickest makeup ever, not-pajamas-clothes. Felt great.
Crazy story–this insane lady ran into our home and started texting you. Then she left. I swear. We need security cameras. We can look around for her if you want, but um…she’s not here now. Just me. Quite sane.
This isn’t a rehearsal for life. This is life. You’re living it. I probably have razor burn. It’ll be okay. They can’t put ALL of us in the nuthouse, can they? I don’t think there’s room.
I think I’ll play this game with my mountains of laundry now…