Mornings have been the hardest transition for me since becoming a mother of two. With a baby who invariably nurses 2-3 hours all through the night (note to those unaware: feedings count from start to start so a two hour feeding span actually has an hour or so of down time, and less if you change a diaper in between), I tend to wake feeling slightly hungover, or like someone is sitting on my head. Most mornings (now that we're a few months into the experience) my husband is good enough to deal with my son: diaper change, brush teeth, breakfast...inevitably with that purple dinosaur I can't stand. I know I should wake after the 6ish a.m. feed but I just can't bring myself to get up when I'm so tired and she's finally asleep. So eight o'clock rolls around and I groggily roll out of bed (literally, roll knees, feet out, and propel upright), do a quick wash (thank you, facial wipes), prepare a morning protein shake (in shaker cup...no time for ice and blender), and before you know it the baby wants another feed. Except I'm trying to get the two year old dressed (and he's trying to race his cars), which can take ten minutes on a good day, so the poor baby is screaming her head off like she's been abandoned in a ditch somewhere...and your mind is so apt to wander, you actually let your guilty self believe she feels that horrible and it's you who's gone and done that to her. Maybe you even start crying yourself a little or you snap at the two year old who thinks it's HILARIOUS to pull out his left leg from his pants just as you're getting the right one in, and just as you get the left one back out pops the right.
Mornings gain a sense of urgency when you factor in a toddler schedule. I work backwards: if he naps around 1:30pm and eats lunch around 12:30pm, I need to be out of the house by around 9:30am...anything after 10am is fruitless and the day is a disaster if attempted at all.
Today I sensed that if I didn't get my son out of the house to play with some friends I was going to turn into a demonic version of myself, one where I'd be hoarse by the end of the day and feel horribly depressed at the job I'm doing. Every thing he did from the moment I left my bedroom seemed to be intended for chaos, or at least to press on my last nerve: pulling this wire then that one, driving cars across the stove, squeezing underneath the sofa to reach for a toy until he himself became lodged there, upending his sister's carseat from the sofa (she was not inside).
I started to try to get out of the house around 10am. The baby became hysterical and needed to nurse. Every time I tried to get her into the car seat she'd turn half purple with choking (she's getting over her brother's cold). I called my friend to say I didn't think I would make it, but I heard myself telling her that I knew I wouldn't make it through the day in the house with him. She suggested I drive over for his naptime and he'd fall asleep in the car. Miraculously, I managed to cook him lunch while the baby slept (in her swing, instead of her usual station slung around my neck in her sling) and he "helped"/played.
Lunch finished around 1pm...we left 2:15.
The forty minute drive was good; they both slept and I had my second protein shake of the day. The afternoon disappeared like magic as the boys played (hers are fifteen months apart, roughly seven months each side of my son) and the baby invariably nursed and slept in her sling. Dinner was uneventful (except I had to stand and sway slightly because the baby would cry every time I sat down) and after they all got into pjs and I prepared for the ride home.
It should have been a quiet ride. Everyone was fed, it was dark, and it was bedtime for all.
The baby cried the entire forty minute drive home.
Even when I sang. Even when I put on music and sang. Even when I drove on the highway with only my left hand so my right hand could reach around back to the carseat to hold the side of her head and her flailing hands while my son whined for the car he had dropped under my seat. Even when we were off the highway and the drive down side streets that should take ten minutes took twenty because EVERY single *&^%$#@ traffic light turned red just as the law abiding car in front of me pulled up to it.
I felt like screaming. "@#$%^&*" was echoing in my head. It was all I could do to get home. I rushed her in the house (my husband thankfully was home and got our son and my bags) and took her sweaty little hysterical self out of the car seat; she nursed like a monkey and promptly fell asleep...
...but I'd forgotten to swaddle her. I can't move her once she's asleep unless she's swaddled. So I rush to my room, grab a swaddle (and my trusty sling), rush to swaddle her and get her back to sleep (because of course she woke again hysterical) and again I do my little dance like when you need to pee because if I sit or stop moving she'll cry.
But it's 11pm now and she's been asleep quietly in her sling for about 45 minutes. I am thankful for my two healthy (and sleeping) children, and now I'll turn in for some sleep...until she wakes to nurse in about two hours...
(P.S.: She woke up to nurse before I could even post this...I went to bed around 1am :)
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