We’re in the midst of parent boot camp, creating some structure around eating especially so our baby boy gets enough calories during the day so that he doesn’t need to wake up 5 times a night. If he ate more of the bulk of his calories during the day, then certainly he wouldn’t need to wake up so many times at night, right? And maybe if we didn’t feed him on demand, he wouldn’t want to eat every hour. So on Thursday, we really started a concentrated effort to have a feeding schedule. And it went fine on Day 1. Then BF decided to throw baby around in the air like baby’s not 20 pounds on Thursday night and felt a little something happen in his back. I empathized. I had a little something happen in my neck a few days before and I couldn’t look to the left at all. My dear friend and massage therapist said she could see me at 5:30 on Friday. I just needed to wait a couple days to get the evil worked out of my neck. I could do it. Friday morning started fine– though it was heading towards being a pouring, gross, gross day. BF, who is a little compulsive about the yard, said, “Oh, I have to go cut the grass before it rains” and disappeared. Thirty minutes later, he reappeared all stooped over. “I think I threw my back out.” Sure enough, he did, and spent the rest of the day lying on the floor, moaning in pain. I cancelled my massage (only after offering it to BF who said that it would only make him hurt more) and my visit with an out of town friend and went to full-time babytown which was fine, even if we were in parent boot camp. The high of the weekend? Baby only woke up three times that night. It was a thing of beauty. But baby got a memo on Saturday to not cooperate as much, and he refused to drink his formula. And when he did drink, he spit it all up on me and my lounge around clothes. And he cried a lot. At high volume when he wasn’t in my arms. At moderate volume when he was in my arms and I couldn’t read his mind about what he wanted. Mostly, I think he was hungry from his hunger strike. But it didn’t mean he opened his purse lips to take in any more ounces of formula. Because he didn’t want the formula on my terms. He wanted it on his terms. I hadn’t showered in a day or two. I had grocery shopping I needed to do so around 5pm, I asked BF if baby could sit on the floor next to him while I ran to the grocery store. I threw on a baseball cap and ran out the door. Without my list or my coupons even though I went through the pains of organizing both. The store was bumping like a Manhattan night club and just as I walked in and grabbed my cart, I looked down to see myself covered in spit up. It was on black clothes and terribly obvious (and disgusting). My reflection in the store doors showed that my rat’s nest hair was not so cleverly disguised by the baseball cap as I thought it might be when I threw on the hat. Nope, it just meant all the ratty parts of it were concentrated from my ears down to my chin in a big fat halo of cotton ball puff. Inside was everyone I knew. I pulled my hat down low and dodged aisles trying to slyly make my way through the store. My mission was mostly accomplished until I reached the check out line when someone three lines away screamed, “OH MY GOD, WHERE IS THAT BABY?” Someone, maybe the only person in town, who obviously hasn’t yet seen the baby. Heads swiveled. People called out and my non-matching, spit-up covered mess of a self was totally on display. I’m an introvert and being on display is my worst nightmare anyway (it’s a wonder we didn’t elope) but on display when you really are at your worst and might possibly stink? Really a new low. I’ve stunk before– I lived in the Brazilian Amazon one summer doing manual labor and playing soccer every day and then bathing in a river because that’s what we had. My hair was dreading by the end of it. But that was totally how I was supposed to look at that time. Sadly on Saturday, I just looked a phone call away from being What Not to Wear’s next case (and I do love some Clinton and Stacy so that wouldn’t be the worse thing in the world– except for the public display of it and all). It was a big departure from my Make an Effort Resolution from earlier this year. So, I’m back to it. Trying to make an effort despite the madness of our lives, the sleep deprivation, the sugar binge I’ve been on to make it through the day, the 22 seconds I have to get ready after getting out of the shower, etc. I cut my hair off two weeks ago and I have yet to deliberately style it. I’ve put my spring clothes in the closet and keep wearing the same thing over and over again ’cause at least I know what pieces to put together, where everything is, and that it all fits. My workouts, my showers, my nightime moisturizer routine keep getting put off. The lack of sleep has been owning me, and I am just so over it. So here I am calling myself on my own self-care mantra. Must do better now. Starting with going to sleep earlier to make up for the wake-ups to come. Good night (and good luck).
And an update on BF: He’s up and at ’em, feeling much better though not a 100%.