Of two hours sleep, that is.
On my last post, I just wanted to explain (and why do I feel so defensive about this? She could just as easily really have been sick) but the facts are: Callie didn’t throw up at school, all she did was tell her teacher that she’d thrown up that morning, and agreed that her tummy “didn’t feel good.”
As soon as I got her home, she asked to hold the baby; I told her she couldn’t if she was sick, so she insisted she wasn’t sick, she just had a funny tummy. Ah, the funny tummy — and the little girl who cried throw up. She never did throw up or anything, so off to school she went the next day, this time with strict instructions to not volunteer incriminating dis-information.
In other riveting news:
I don’t think I experience real (clinical, needing medication, which I would use if necessary, believe me) post-partum depression. I mean, I do have crazy outbursts of uncontrollable crying and frustration (who doesn’t?). But what I do feel is anxiety, anxiety that tightens my back in gnarled knots as I try to sleep. Maybe it’s a build-up of the stress hormones from hearing the baby cry, I don’t know. I do know I have to take Tylenol pm to relax most nights. I still wake up at the first hint of rustling from the baby (unfortunately), but it saves me from having a panic attack as I lie there thinking how exhausted I am and how sleep seems an impossible dream.
Related: this is my last baby.
She is gorgeous and warm and sweet-smelling (especially after a bath). But I would give anything to fast-forward the next couple months. Oh, and her umbilical cord already fell off. I would be sentimental over this, but instead it’s physical proof that she is, in fact, getting older. (Hallelujah!)
I am pretty sure she doesn’t actually have reflux, but instead some gassy/colic-y ness that stems from being a “bad” burper. My other kids? I nursed them until they gave me a drunken-sailor “Thanks so much for that wonderful elixir of the gods, Mom” look and then belched appreciatively. This kid won’t burp to save her life sometimes (and sometimes she *cries* *after* nursing. Ingrate). So we’re trying the gripe water and the mylicon drops to break up the big bubbles into little bubbles. Because often, 45 minutes or so after a feeding, she’ll scream bloody murder until a burp finally works its way out (or she squirts violently out the other end, either way).
Related, also: we moved Molly’s crib out of our bedroom (by “we” I mean Tom, of course). She lasted in our room longer than any of the other kids (11 days), but despite my firm commitment to some things (like on-demand breastfeeding — I rock that), I cannot handle any form of co-sleeping. I would be checking myself into a mental institution within the week.
Which really doesn’t sound so bad, because I’m pretty sure they’d have good drugs and would let me sleep there…
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And this is why we are friends.
And why haven’t I been to your house yet to bring you tasty chicken? Let me know when you are up to visitors. I am a champion burper… oh and I can probably pat up some burps from Molly too.
Maybe this sounds crazy, but I just wanted to say that I’ve been looking at progressive muscle relaxation and meditation and the talk called “The Balm of Gilead” lately, and I’ve kind of combined them into my own version of destressor. I go through and relax each part of my body, then think about every single little thing that is making me so tense that I am physically unwell. Then I dump each one into the Lord’s compost heap. That’s what I call it, anyway. He can take it! He can have all the garbage that I don’t need to stress about. Let him take it and see what happens. Although I’m not seeing immediate results with long-term problems (like my carpal tunnel syndrome), overall I’m feeling less annoyed and less stressed.
Oh, P.S. I don’t know if you’ve ever noticed since you don’t really write comments on your own blog, but the word “submitting” after you click the “Speak!” button is spelled wrong.
Just a note.
I feel for you! I remember those days!