But I’m working on it. I realize the logic behind trying to get back to regular blogging eight weeks before I’m scheduled to push a human out of my nether-parts is pretty bad. It’s almost like, why bother? Because soon I will be in the void that is new-babyness.
Soon I will be a sleep deprived, leaking zombie. I know its coming.
I’m only partially in denial. A few times I’ve even caught myself lying to myself.
It isn’t going to be that bad. I think. It’s only for a few months. And maybe this baby will be good. Will sleep. This baby won’t want to eat every 15 seconds. This baby won’t cry nonstop for 6 16 hour stretches for no apparent reason.
Reality comes back to me at this point, as reality tends to do. And then I start to get scared. I’ve done this before. I remember this. And it was hard. In some cases, very hard.
Kid One was actually an “easy” baby, if there is such a thing. Sure, she required constant tending, that I had to handle pretty much solo, since I was the non-working parent there. But she generally only cried when she was hungry or shitty, and she slept reasonably well.
What was tough with her was the loneliness. Being stuck in a small house, alone with a newborn, with few adult friends, and no family nearby is incredibly, incredibly hard. Especially when it’s your first baby and you are 19 and have no clue what you are doing and omfg why did her chest just cave in and oh shit shes dying, no wait, she just has the hiccups. Phew.
It was during this time in my life that I discovered the joys of internet friendships. I met some amazing women without whom I never would have survived. (Some of these women are still my best friends today, even though we have never met in person.) There’s an unbreakable bond there, because we were all in the trenches of motherhood, alone once. And we all made it out, together. And having someone to go to when you need to ask, What is this goo and will it ever stop leaking out of me? Is awesome. And necessary.
Kid Two was not an easy baby. She had colic.
I know people have a tendency to use the word “colic” whenever their kid cries for no reason. Trust me- a baby who has a “crying time” for an hour every evening, does not have colic.
You don’t know what colic is until you have held your infant upside down by her feet because some book someone read somewhere told you that this sometimes helped colicky babies regulate themselves and you have tried putting her on the washer when it’s on spin cycle and have tried driving around, and walking her in the stroller and wearing her in a sling and giving her warm baths and pushing her knees up to her belly while shoving mylicon drops down her throat because aunt Edna is sure its gas and walking away, and letting her cry it out and feeding her rice cereal with her milk and switching formulas 1946 times and nothing works and all you want is twenty minutes of silence oh god please shut up baby, please.
I used to doze next to the wind up swing, sitting up, with my hand on the crank, because the second the swing slowed, she would start screaming loudly again. (The swing didn’t totally stop the screaming, but it did calm her to a whimpering level that I learned to somewhat tune out enough to sleep through.)
Add to this the fact that I was essentially parenting a newborn and an 18 month old alone at this point, (even when my husband was home, he was mostly in the basement smoking pot with his friends.) And add to that, the fact that Kid One was just starting to show us the extent of her Autism with such fun milestones as the 6 hour headbanging session that left us in the ER for 36 hours and being investigated by child services. Add to that, the fact that I couldn’t ever leave the house alone, ( because “No way are you leaving me alone with all these kids!”) still had no friends, (who makes friends while on bedrest for 12 weeks?) and while we now lived near relatives, half of them hated me, and the other half hated kids.
And yeah. I look back on that time and sometimes wonder how the hell I managed to not down a bottle of xanax with a vodka chaser.
Kid three, thankfully, did not have colic. However, this time I was really alone. And living in a tiny house, sharing a room with the kid, and working third shift. With a newborn. Who I couldn’t let cry for more then ten seconds, because people were sleeping two feet away.
I was also battling some super depression. Losing two kids will do that to a person.
It may sound like I’m having a pity party here, but really, I’m not. There’s a point in all this.
While it may seem counter-intuitive for me to start blogging again now, now is when I need it the most.
I’m pretty confident that, this time around, my husband won’t be hiding in the basement. (We don’t have one, hah.) I won’t be doing it completely alone. And I’m not 19. And my other kid is not a toddler. And I have some actual, real life friends, and I can probably leave the house once a month alone. To get a margarita. With an adult.
But still, he will go to work, and I will be left in that strange new baby zombie void alone during the day.
I’m going to need this. I’m going to need you. Even if he sleeps through the night and never cries, I will still need a place to go, a place to vent. A place where people know exactly what I mean when I say I’m tired. And leaky.