The waiting game I referred to in my last blog is over. Has been over. For almost 5 weeks now. 5 weeks ago from this very moment, actually, I was in the most intense part of the whole waiting process. I was in labor, had my epidural, and was just waiting around to dilate enough to push this thing they claimed was a baby out of me. He wasn’t a baby. He was a teenager already. Let me start by saying, I was induced, and I was 9 days past due. Also known as huge. And impatient. But mostly just huge. So was my son. It explains my hugeness. He was huge, so I was huge…
9 pounds. I have the video of him being weighed immediately after he was born to prove it. And although I almost gave in toward the end of the labor to quit pushing this half-grown football player and have a c-section, I’m proud to say, I didn’t. Mainly because my OB blackmailed me to get me to keep pushing, but that’s a story for another blog.
So, I’ve officially been a mom for nearly 5 weeks. I’ve loved every moment of it. I especially love the moments when, in the middle of the night, I’ve just fed my little man, changed him, am attempting to get him to sleep, and all of a sudden, I realize he needs another diaper change. I love it even more when my husband is kind enough to take the little monst- uh, sweet little angel, and change him for me. This from the man who has to get up in mere hours to go to work. All because I have stitches, I’m tired, and I’m the one who takes care of our little one during the nights. Have I mentioned I love my husband?
Speaking of love… I love pacifiers. I know, I know, they’re a very controversial topic. Trust me, I know. Nearly everyone that has come to visit has had a very strong opinion on my child having a pacifier. Let me explain something; it relaxes him when he’s fussy. I don’t shove it at him the moment he opens his mouth. Only when he’s tired, when he’s fussy, when he needs to relax so he can sleep, when nothing else satisfies him. And boom. This wonderful, rubber invention pleases him. What’s so bad about that? As long as I don’t let him run around with it until he’s, well, running around, isn’t it okay? He’s just a baby for the love of all that’s Holy.
Wow, my 1st blog as a mommy is turning into a blog about my rights to give my child a pacifier, and how awesome my husband is. Which he is. Especially when our boy has wet his onesie through his diaper, and my awesome husband changes him, then gets spit up on, changes little one again, then gets puked on. All in 3 minutes. Oh, he got pooped on a few minutes later, too. We switched diaper brands, by the way. And diaper sizes. All is well with these issues.
Meanwhile, back to the official blog of the newness of the mommyhood. Little man is sleeping in our room, in a pack-n-play, and he seems to enjoy it… as long as he’s completely conked out when we put him in there. Not to brag, but I’ve become quite the expert at laying my child down without waking him up. WOW. It’s so easy to lie on the internet! Actually, I rather suck at laying him down while keeping him asleep. I have a theory he has a hidden radar that sets an alarm off behind his eyelids the moment I carry him into my room and head for the pack-n-play. Every now and then, I manage get him down and keep him there, then slip out of the room and head across the house to attempt laundry, schedule a dr’s appointment for him, or, God willing, sit down and watch TV.
Up until, um, I guess yesterday, I was checking on him when he slept at least every, oh, I don’t know, four seconds. Then, I decided I was being paranoid, and could lengthen it to every few minutes or so. Won’t make that mistake again. There’s never been anything to break my heart as a mother more than my little one’s lip trembling as he cries. Explanation as follows: I hadn’t checked on baby boy in a few minutes. When I had, he was completely out. I’d been checking on him roughly every 5 minutes or so. I let it go for a few extra minutes this time before I entered my kitchen on my way to check on him and oh my God he’s screaming! My poor baby had woken, and his cry hadn’t been answered. No one had come, and he’d been on his own, in a dark room, with nothing but a monkey nightlight and a dog who could only stare at him helplessly. (I accused her of keeping quiet, she should’ve barked or banged on the door to get out! THAT I would’ve heard! So hard to find good babysitters these days…)
There were no tears, let me just say that. But that lip was just quivering!!! My heart was shattered, and naturally, I felt like a terrible mother. I wasn’t sure how long he’d been screaming for me. Yes, I just discovered I can’t hear him from the den in my home. And no, we don’t have those ridiculously-expensive baby monitors. And we’re not going to get them, because guess who’s back to checking on her son every 4 seconds?! Meeeeee!!!!!!!!!!!!
Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go check on my son, because yes, I’m in the den.