Before I begin: Thank you, everyone, for the wonderful congratulatory comments and e-mails. They provided many smiles those first weeks.
Hello. My name is Kate and I am a blog ignorer. (Also, I apparently make up words. It’s funner that way.)
Who knew that when you went and had a second baby you’d immediately become disorganized, scatterbrained, and frequently unshowered? Ignoring (again!) the fact that everyone in the world knew this except for in-denial me, I have to tell you: This baby thing is EXHAUSTING. How did I not remember this from the first time around? In my head, Aura remains the Perfect Baby: slept all the time, ate regularly but not obsessively, cooed at appropriate times, and slept some more. Either this is exactly how it went down or six years does not do a memory good. But let’s go with Door #1. Makes all the complaining below just seem…healthier.
(SIX years, October 6. Must be in a time warp thingie or something. Plus she went and got her haircut and now I can’t even squint and pretend she’s still three, like I used to:)
Right around the time he turned one week, Jax decided that Sleep! For the Lazy! Is Much Better to Demand to Be Held Every Second of the Day! Anything past 10 minutes in a bouncy seat/swing/car seat and all hell breaks loose. Wearing him (I have now moved onto the Baby K’tan wrap carrier and I must now request you buy it for every new mother you know, because Hi, I can cook dinner now or at least gaze into the freezer Very Seriously before picking up the phone to order Thai) has helped, but still, Jax spends an awful lot of time lying on top of me, while I sit as still as possible and watch the fifth John Cusack movie on TV in one day. (Oh, that Must Love Dogs. He was a keeper, I tell you. Perhaps too good for Diane Lane.)
As of this weekend (seven weeks, hollah), nighttime sleep has improved. Jax now regularly goes for three-and-a-half or four hours for the first stretch. Of course, this is because he is exhausted from howling all evening, because WOMAN, IF YOU DON’T FEED ME EVERY HOUR I’M GOING TO…HOWL EVEN MORE AND MAYBE SPIT UP MORE AND THEN HOWL MORE MILLLLLLLLLLLK. You’d think finally finding a use for that stupid pink velour Build-A-Bear bed with decorative trim would calm him down, but OH NO:
Of course, something else happened right before five weeks. The Smile. And that makes me forgive his astounding 12-pound self for almost everything. Say, 99%.
What else? Ah yes, the guilt. The horrible, debilitating guilt over how much less time I spend playing with Aura. She continues to adjust well, but it can’t be easy coming home from your spankin’ new first-grade classroom only to hear “Sorry, sweetie, I have to feed the baby again!” or “Sorry, I have to change the baby again!” She spends a lot of time listening to stories near the nursing pillow or modifying pretend games (those BLASTED Littlest Pet Shops still won’t die a timely death) so that I can play them one-handed.
Yet these moments take no hands at all:
But still. I might be selling a baby soon. Stay tuned. For now, I’ll just toss him in with the laundry.