Maybe I believed the hype. The hype that I was now a pro at this mommy thing. Everyone, and I mean everyone from my mom, to my best friend, to my college roommate, to my hair dresser, to the lady that bags my groceries, to the elderly man that stopped me in the parking lot. They ALL said I would do great with my fourth baby, “Ah, he’ll be so easy!”
Well, either they lied, or I just forgot what the heck I was doing. Because my newest, and probably most adorable addition, is anything but easy.
He’s fussy, irritable, and unsettled. He’s colicky, constipated, and constantly hungry. He spits up, drools, and soaks four outfits daily. He sleeps when he’s held and only if he’s held. He knows the difference between when I sit and when I stand. He’d prefer I stand. He’d especially prefer I stand between the hours of 3 pm and 11 pm. Then when I have finally bounced and swayed and swung just the right lullaby to put him to sleep, there is a cry or a scream or most likely both from one of the other three children I didn’t have time to parent that day, thus repeating the never-ending cycle of bounce-sway-sing.
One desperate afternoon, after I picked up my son and his friend from preschool, I ventured out into the real world and took them, my daughter and the baby to Target to buy these “Colic Drops” I heard about. So there I was, with four kids, none older than four, still in the sweats I wore the night (and day) before, scanning through the baby aisles to find a little box that offered me a smidge of hope that my boy would feel just a tiny bit better. Then I found them… or at least where they were supposed to be. Out. Of. Stock. I froze. I think I yelled, “NOOOO!” a little louder than I intended. My son’s friend looked at me and said, “are you gonna cry?” I sure as heck wanted to. I wanted to sit on my butt, in that very aisle, with my head in my hands and blubber like a little baby until someone found me and said, “Honey, are you okay? Here, have some chocolate.”
Over the last three-plus months, I have averaged a hot shower, alone, once a month. I have learned to pee while simultaneously holding a baby and rocking back and forth. My kids have had a bologna sandwich… okay, there’s been no time for bread, they’ve had bologna slices for lunch five days a week. By the time I eat, it’s two o’clock and my lunch has been reheated four different times. Most significantly, I’ve only yelled at my husband once. Well, only once when he was actually around to hear it. Considering the circumstances, I think that puts me in the running for Wife of the
I will admit, there is one thing I am a pro at by now, and that’s getting out the door. Granted, two-fifths of us are properly clothed and cleaned, but I do lug that carseat around like a boss. While out and about, I am frequently asked, “Is he a good baby?” I’m not sure strangers are really prepared for my answer…
Yeah, he’s good at being a baby. He’s seriously good at it. Like seriously so good that I will never, EVER need to have another baby again.
The other night when my baby woke up fighting mad, I picked him up, placed him on my chest, rubbed his back and sleepily shushed just trying to get a few more minutes before I had to ensue our bounce-sway-sing routine. That sweet little baby moved his head, pushed his legs back and fourth and somehow wiggled all the way down to my belly. He let out one loud sigh, and then he was still. Asleep. He slept for three solid hours. Just like that.
So I guess I didn’t forget how to do this mommy thing entirely…
My little Sean baby, you’ve kept me up late, woke me up early, covered me in your spit-up, and kept me on my feet since the moment we brought you home. You’ve made me dig deep into that mama toolbox of mine to find the one trick that will stick (I’m still digging by the way). But you have these eyes, these big bright eyes that look up at me and into my soul. Oh yes, little Sean baby, you are SO easy to love!