As I mentioned in my previous post, C and M fell rather suddenly ill one night, kept us up with panicked vomiting, and were more or less fine the next day. It seemed like that was the end of it, and that we were all very lucky to have escaped whatever it was. But a couple of nights later, it was S's turn. The night after S, it was me. And S and I stayed sick for a couple of days.
When I got sick, my partner (who is now officially going by Papa) stayed home to help out with things, which was sweet and super helpful, but seems to have aided in his office slipping further and further behind. That is not to suggest that he is the pillar that holds the rest of his team up (maybe he is, but that's not what I'm trying to say here). There have been several other absences due to illness around there recently. Now they're talking about overtime, but are reluctant to let the employees work extra hours from home, like they did last time this was a problem. In other words, longer hours away from home for Papa if he volunteered for overtime, but he says he won't because he has a new baby and it would be ridiculous to expect him to.
The Cub is crib training. I'm trying so hard to teach him that it's okay to sleep in his own room at night. He's still pretty sure it's not okay to sleep at night at all. I told my mom I'm thinking he just doesn't understand that everyone else in the house wants to simultaneously do nothing at all interesting for at least 8 hours straight. Needless to say, Papa and I don't get 8 hours straight. We don't expect to. But we're often subject to hours of dissatisfaction from Cub as he informs us that our choice of sleep time is unacceptable. We swaddle and unswaddle, change diapers, feed, rock, leave the light on so he can see his crazy wallpaper and other interesting stuff in his room, and still end up completely lacking silence. So, Papa is going to work tired and taking accidental micro-naps at his desk. He says he wakes up as soon as his head slips off of the hand it was resting on. Thankfully, everyone in his office has kids and knows that he just had his first baby. They specifically expressed that they expected this from him.
Yesterday, the kids made peanut butter cookies with my standing mixer. Last night, after they went to bed, Papa's dog ate most of them straight off of the counter. This morning, in a haze, I changed Cub's poopy diaper and left it by my bed. Mid-day, while I was helping them make lunch, I discovered that my dog ate the entire inside of said diaper while I wasn't looking.
When I had the twins, I remember thinking I couldn't do anything right. I remember how a crying baby (or two) totally erased my mind and I would forget what I meant to do... or even what I was in the middle of doing. I remember thinking my babies didn't love me or even like me, and I remember thinking something was wrong with me because sometimes I didn't know what to do and sometimes I even got mad at them or wanted to cry because nothing was working. I felt like a terrible parent whenever I had to put them in their crib and walk away for a bit.
Now, when I have to do that, I still wish I didn't, but I don't feel like a failure. I know that it's better to let him cry, safe in his crib, while I compose myself than it is to let that stress pile up and end up angry with a baby who doesn't understand and can't do anything to help himself, let alone me.
Maybe it's impossible to avoid high expectations for your first baby. Maybe all of those magazine and TV ads that show airbrushed moms with their perfect, smiling babies make us believe they're going to be born adorable and giggling... not spitting up and screaming. The adventure is new every time, as far as I can tell, but the first time was definitely the hardest and I'm glad I don't have to go back and do that over again.
It gets easier.
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