But I can't. Can't move, can't put on socks, or even use the bathroom.
I have the baby strapped to me in a front carrier. He is slumped over to the side, like a little milk-drunk angel, and he is sleeping.
If I move, I risk waking him, and chances are, if I wake him. He. will. cry.
No one ever said to me. Kate. Your baby will cry on average of 4 hours a day. Sometimes more. Rarely less. He will throw his head back and cry until you can see his little white tongue, the tooth buds under his gums, the peach flesh under his chin rolls. And It will be an octave you've never heard before. One that is completely incompatible with your ears. Or with nature even.
Picture it. 12:30 am. Your baby has been blood curdle screaming for hours. You and your partner pass him back and forth like some creepy hot potato game for adults. You glare at each other like vultures over his arched back, saying disdainful things to each other, but luckily you never hear them over the baby's wails. But you sense them. Evil things have been said.
Picture it. 10:15. You lay the baby down. You squeeze into some sexy number. It's romance time. Nevermind your stomach still looks like a popped can of biscuit dough. You have been waiting all day for attention and lovin. Five minutes in. Baby is hysterical. It's like he can just tell you are about to do something for yourselves and he is going to put a stop to it. immediately. Your partner takes the baby while you trudge back into the bedroom for something a little more practical. Some jammie pants and a nursing tank. Dang.
Picture it. Pictures on hay bales for the holidays. Crying.
Picture it. Grandpa Wil wants to hold the baby. Crying.
Picture it. You need to get your housework done. Crying.
Picture it. Crying. Over and over and over again.
So we take him into the doctor. We think colic. She says prolly not. Prolly a growth spurt. You'll just have to deal.
What do you do with this situation?
Well....for weeks, I panicked. I sweated about the upper lip and under my boobs. I yelled at everyone who wasn't the baby. Because I really didn't know what to do, or how to take it. Any new mother will tell you she simply cant bear for her baby to cry that way. It breaks your heart and mind in two.
Now? I'm getting used to it. I can tell the difference between his "I'm crying because something is wrong" and the usual "I'm crying because I'm tired and frustrated and I can't fix things myself". Deep inside myself I think that's what it is.
I'm still not perfect. I still give Amanda the stink eye if he cries too long. I still feel sorry for myself some days when everyone else's babies are smiling and happy always.
I still wonder, why me?
All I can hope for is that this is a "new baby" thing. That he is super sharp, and super in tuned with things and it's very strange and alien for him to experience all of these new and raw emotions, sounds, smells, faces.
I can also hope that eventually it wears off, and he becomes a happy, smiling boy, filled with wonderful and adventurous journeys in his life. I just want my son to find a sense of peace.
And if he doesn't? I will still be here for him.
Sometimes I have to remind myself that as with everything in life, there is a beginning to a story, a peak, and an ending, and then eventually a new story starts.
So it is with Jace. Some days a peek of a smile comes out, when normally he would be crying.
We will figure it out together my son, the three of us. This I promise you.
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