Maternal aphasia: Week Nine

In a few minutes I head out for a checkup, as the bleeding seems to have gotten heavier over the past day. It is nothing dangerous, and might even just be the (very early, very unwelcome) return of my period. Perhaps more than you bargained on reading about by coming here, but that's where I'm at.

Abe is sleeping on my chest after having used me, yet again, as a human pacifier/sleep aid. I love it too much to stop him. But I will need to start encouraging him to get to sleep on his own, in his own bed, in the next couple weeks, if we're ever going to get back to "normal." His weight gain is slow, so I'm loath to deny him any chance at the breast, which will stimulate more milk production.

Jonah is mercurial and bursts into tears at the slightest provocation. The whining is unreal and hard to stop and even harder not to reward with a response to his requests. Yesterday he drove the people in the checkout line at the food coop nuts with a persistent, whined request for a bialy that I was not going to buy him, since he'd already carbo-loaded with goldfish crackers and it was closing in on dinner time. I stood my ground, but it really sucked.

I think the permanence of the change in our family has finally set in. He isn't crazy about it, most of the time. But then he'll notice Abe and get all excited: "His eyes are open! Look! Hey, big guy!" All delivered in the breathy baby-talk voice he mimics from me. I want to believe it's not 100% pandering to Mama, that he actually takes some small measure of interest in his baby brother.

And me? Most of the time I feel alright. Until I have to, you know, go dress shopping for an upcoming family event. Then I feel like a horrible, fat, bleeding whale. Not looking forward to seeing myself in the photos from that album.

But it is undeniably spring, I have a wonderful family, and the sun is hitting the ginkgo leaves out the window and making them look gold. It's all going to be fine.

Maternal aphasia: Week Seven

Spring has hit hard. It's upwards of 85 degrees out there, sunny, the playgrounds are begging for sprinklers to be turned on. We hit the botanical gardens this morning, my boys and I. Some friends joined us but soon bailed out due to crankiness and the strength of the sun. I should be running in fear of my life from this sun and heat, but it seems like a brand new invention. Having a small baby strapped to me is not so comfortable in the heat, however - we both got home soaked. The search for a double stroller kicks into high gear starting now.

But on the way home I was overcome by the heat and my exhaustion, and made a panicked call to Josh who I thought could bail me out, Wednesdays being generally a less structured day for him. But a client called with an emergency, so he had to rush out. I felt totally bereft, all of a sudden. Then Jonah wanted to get out of the stroller and splash in the wake of a fountain in front of the museum, despite his sleepiness. I told him no, that we needed to get home, and he bawled for a few minutes. Then asked for an Italian ice, a red one, which I bought him, despite the fact that I knew he wouldn't touch it. I ate the ice, undoubtedly getting my lips and tongue day-glo red and looking to passersby like a pretty mean mom, for eating an ice while my stroller-bound child had none. Luckily Josh was still home when we got back, and helped me bump the stroller up the steps. Jonah sleeps there still, over an hour later, and I'm enjoying the breeze through the living room window and Abe's playmat noises.

The temporary panic was induced by the fact that tomorrow is seven weeks since I gave birth, and I continue to bleed. I have been warned not to exert myself; I do not know how to avoid it. Can one continually tell a 3 year old he can't go in the swing at the playground, because Mama is holding his baby brother and because he's too long to lift that high? So I cave, and lift, and then I bleed again. Tomorrow is my postpartum checkup, and I'm fully expecting to be sternly warned about exertions I can do little to avoid...

Maternal aphasia: Week Six

I just put Abe down in his crib asleep and walked out of the room. Not that remarkable, except that we haven't been doing this. In six weeks the babe has not slept more than 20 minutes in his crib. This needs to change, because we aren't human cribs, and six weeks old is a good time for a baby to start accepting certain home truths. Also: Mama is not your pacifier. Your pacifier is made of silicone and is called NUK, so please, stop spitting it out.

Jonah is on school vacation and I was dreading the three days alone with him and Abe before the weekend. I needn't have. Yesterday the weather was not good, and we all had a good time. Today the weather was phenomenal, and we all had a good time. Jonah was very affectionate with me today - perhaps he is starting to get back to his good old self? - and the number of times he used his ugly new catchphrase ("I don't like it!") was under five, I think. Compared with 25,000 times in previous days.

I wish I could find a way to nap during the day. Yesterday Jonah napped in the car, but Abe was awake, so I spent 90 minutes nursing him and hanging out with him in the front seat. Today was a stroller nap day, so at least we got to the corner cafe (where we ran into two people we knew - ah, Sesame Street), and I fortified myself with iced coffee. But there is no substitute for coming home, having Jonah nap in his bed, and getting some prone time for myself. Of course, in another 15 years Jonah will leave the house and I'll get regular naps and be sad about it...