My baby is 4 weeks old, but more closely resembles a 4 month old. He eats constantly, and it shows. He has gained 2 lbs in the last 2 weeks and is a whopping 11 lbs 3 oz and 24 inches long. It’s insane. It’s like the equivalent of me gaining 25 lbs and a full 11 inches in 2 weeks. Yikes.
I don’t know where to begin. I wrote about having an easy baby and yes, I did jinx it. He’s not wildly difficult, but man. The gas pains this kid has. Oy. It wasn’t always this way, but since about 2.5 weeks, he has struggled passing the poops. I’ve been doing a bit of reading and as of today will try treating it as if I have over active letdown and see how that goes.
We’re in somewhat of a schedule of varying hours. We get up for the day around 10 or 11, depending on how grizzly he was during the night. I feed him in my bed, then we take a shower because he’s usually game to chill on a towel on the floor. Sometimes, I’ll bring him in the bath with me, which he loves. I’ll amuse myself by dipping his entire lower half in the water and gently swaying him. This makes his balls swish around in a hilarious fashion. So glad we had a boy. And one who happens to have ENORMOUS balls. Sorry to embarrass you kid, but it’s true. I changed you in front of a group of moms, and it was confirmed. I’ll have to teach you ACDC’s “balls” because as they say, you’ve “got the biggest balls of them all!”
Once we’re dressed (both of us in jammies), I’ll eat breakfast and then we spend the next 6 hours together on the couch watching netflix and playing scramble on iPhone until the husband’s triumphant return. We eat a meal from our freezer (which is still pumping out food like nobody’s business, thank you, Me 2 months ago), watch even MORE television, and talk about our days.
My daily update is basically this blog post and a rating scale of how badly I need a break. His is full of architecture and professor gossip and design puzzles and research. It makes me miss school. After a bit he usually retreats into his architecture cave, helping maintain my sanity as needed. I hate it when he goes back to work, but I’m the number one advocate of it being vitally necessary for his last two terms. It just sucks.
Bedtime begins around 10. I feed the boy. And then feed some more in an effort to help him sleep longer. Usually around midnight everyone is snug in their beds. If I’m lucky, he’ll sleep until 3:00 AM or later, but he’s usually up at 2:30 AM, needing boobs. I do everything in my power to make this feed efficient, silent, dark, and sleepy. No light. No talking. No diaper changes unless absolutely necessary. We cloth diaper during the day, but at night time, disposables are all the rage for their basically never-needing-to-be-changed virtues. I won’t change that diaper unless I smell poo or it’s leaking. Seriously, those postage stamp sized disposables could swallow a 2 liter. I pretend I’m a ninja parent, slipping food into his belly without him noticing.
When it works–awesome. I go back to bed in 30 minutes. Though at that point, my half of the bed is usually cold, and my body is tense from ninja-ing, so I’ll fall asleep around 4:00 ish and awake again at 5:30 to a hangry baby. This second (or sometimes third) feed of the night never runs so smoothly. By now the diaper weighs as much as he does, he has spit up in his jammies, his swaddle, and his hair from the previous feed, and that bastard sun is creeping in. This feed takes an hour or more. By the time it’s over I go to bed long enough to fall alllllllmost asleep before my husband’s alarm goes off. Of course, NOW I’m exhausted and cranky and pretty sure I can’t possibly spend another night waking up to feed him. Husband gets out of bed and I hunker down with LOUD white noise, earplugs, and a knot in my stomach that the baby will wake. Oh God, please make him sleep. MAKE HIM SLEEEEEP!
He wakes up. Husband brings him into my bedroom, where I, demoralized, feed him in a sleepy stupor in the laid back position off an on for the next several hours. Half dreaming, I’ll pretend I’m watching Serina Williams at the US Open. Grunty baby.
It’s. Interesting. Something I’m sure I’ll miss when it’s over, but I’m ready for a change. Unfortunately for this change to happen, I need:
1. To heal. My nether regions are still so sore and achy, standing for more than 15-30 minutes at a time is difficult. If we had someone close by to watch him, I would start swimming. Childcare at this fancy pants gym begins at 6 weeks, so the second he turns 6 weeks, I’m joining the gym with a pool. I’m there.
2. A baby that sleeps more than he does. Or at least more quietly. Seriously kid, you sound like Serena Williams at the US Open every time you have a bowel movement. It was for this reason we moved him to his own room at the tender age of 2 and a half weeks. He sleeps through most of them, and the ones he does not, well. The neighbors know. And then I come rescue him.
3. A brain that allows me to fall back asleep quickly. I lie awake thinking about stupid shit for no reason. It takes me anywhere from 45 minutes to an hour and a half to fall back asleep which is usually right around when he wants to wake up again.
4. Something to do. I’m considering stopping in at my office for a day to do my taxes or something. Also gym. That would be nice. I look forward to returning to work part time. Though I admit that the idea that I will one day have clients again freaks me out because I am tired of taking care of other people. But assuming they don’t need to suckle or have their diapers changed, I’m guessing I’ll do okay.
In other words, stay-at-home mom-hood is definitely, definitely, definitely not for me. But I suspected this much about myself long before we decided to have a baby, so I’m not surprised or even disappointed. On the very rare occasion when we have been separated for an hour, our reunion is joyous and I LOVE to take care of him. It will be nice when he grows enough that we can achieve a better balance. For now I try not to wish away these days. I love the snuggles, the milky breath, how he giggles in his sleep, morning baths, quiet alert time, and seeing him with my husband.