Four months (translation: one month)
The public health nurse came to weigh Ben yesterday, a bi-weekly date in addition to our visits to perinatal followup at the hospital. And — prepare yourself — he is now, at his first birthday past the zero mark:
NINE AND A HALF POUNDS.
I am mama: hear me rowrrr.
+++++++++
I want brendam docks, daddy?
Daddy, brendam docks. Preeze?
I want brendam docks daddy.
Daddy, brendam docks.
Brendam docks preeze dada now.
Dada do brendam docks.
Brendam docks preeze.
I want brendam docks, daddy!
Daddy, brendam docks?
Brendam docks preeze dada?
Dada, brendam docks now.
Brendam docks preeze.
Justin pushes ancient, secondhand Thomas Tank Engine tape into ancient VCR and says with exasperation:
“Evan, when will you EVER learn that asking for things relentlessly… (pauses, sighs) … gets you whatever you want?”
+++++++++
From the kitchen I hear Kate, get in here quick! and I grab the camera, get there in time to see Ben beaming at his dada’s face, an open-mouthed, sure-as-heck, intentional grin. Of course, by the time I power up and expose it has faded, perhaps a figment, perhaps not.
Despite not having captured the evidence yet we see flags of this approaching milestone, the first one, the carrot-on-the-stick of sleep deprivation.
Ahhh. Sleep deprivation.
I read somewhere that God pressed in the eyes of the Irish — those gorgeous, freckled, raven-haired, silky-lashed types — with a sooty thumb.
I’ve since observed that God pressed in the eyes of the new mother with a sandy thumb, a thumb first swished in vinegar and then poked into the guts of an urban beach littered with e.coli and cigarette butts and shades of last night’s kegger-barf.
Such is how it feels to stumble out of bed at 7 AM after being bolt upright since 3 AM, pat-pat-patting. Rewind: you finish nursing in the breeze of the window, burp and such, place beastfeeder in bassinette, tuck, pat, back away slowly. Then climb back into bed, pull the duvet up around your chilled shoulders, wiggle feet and swish legs back and forth, almost giddy with the feel of it. Your limbs and head and whole self sinks into the mattress with that tingly, going-to-be-asleep-in-thirty-seconds-flat- and-it’s-going-to-be-like-totally-AWESOME feeling but then in twenty-nine seconds he squawks, needing to be UPRIGHT, NOW. Repeat: 3:30. Repeat: 4:45. Repeat: 5:30.
Piping hot shower, piping hot tea and I’m fine. It’s not knocking me off my feet as it did with Evan, this 24-hour unschedule. Maybe because I know from experience that it doesn’t last forever. Still, I catch myself whisper-whining into the darkness GAWD will you PLEASE just button yourself, please so I can sink into this bed and not get up again?
And then, NICU. Oh, yes, right. I remember.
And then he spurts a stream of hot, runny yogurt that trickles down my back and I think Oh sweets, I know it’s not easy, being a baby. You tell me all about it. You just sit here with mama and you go to sleep in thirty seconds flat. I don’t mind that it’s at my expense. Truly, madly, deeply.
sweetsalty kate
34 Comments
Reader Comments (34)
"Oh sweets, I know it’s not easy, being a baby. You tell me all about it. You just sit here with mama and you go to sleep in thirty seconds flat. I don’t mind that it’s at my expense. Truly, madly, deeply."
This closing was breathtaking. And also so very true, and it got me wondering why we don't remember this often enough, that it really must be tough to be an infant.
As I come out from the shadows of my depressions, I miss, i ache for the babyhoods I missed. The runny yoghurt I got down the front of my shirt. but the sweet realization of how fast it would go while it was happening? I was not so lucky.
and what a big boy he is now. So happy to hear.
Thank you for the reminder to look at life through the little eyes. As I write this, my 9 y.o. is lying in bed, tethered to her breathing treatment, trying not to cough. I just want her to be able to sleep through the night and make it through a day of school...She just wants to be able to play on the playground and and sing in the school play and chase her sisters in the yard...
have commented in a while, but never stopped reading your incredible journey.
and your brilliant writing? it humbles me.
Now I have a pissy 11 month old who tries to help herself to boob and growls when she doesn't get it simply because she's bored. Hey, mama's gotta get SOME say on if and when after this many months!
Congratulations, precious Ben on being a rolly polly!
I look forward to reading about the many imaginative and expressive conversations Evan will be having with you..or himself.
Oh Kate, you brought me back and I miss it -- just a wee bit -- but not enough to make me want to do it again!
Thanks for making me smile this evening!
horray for mama milk!
you're right...it won't last forever. and then when it's over, you miss those sweet, silent moments in the dark of the night when it's just you and baby, and the love that flows freely from mama to baby, and from baby to mama. sweet, sweet moments.
oh, how i miss it.
Kate ,
You wake my soul up with your words .
Amazing . Just amazing .
Sue
Wow, 9 1/2 pounds...good job mama.
I've started calling my 3 yr old Deja "Iwanna" as she is also SO demanding and forgets herself often. "I not Iwanna mamma, I Deja!"
Sleep dep.. but you've seen the UFO's before...
Thinking of you, D'
A smile! That's the best. Now you get the nursing smiles. When they smile at you and have that little bit of milk running down their chin. And then it's followed by the milky giggles, when they spray milk all over you as they crack up at seemingly nothing. It’s fantastic!
I'm almost at 19 weeks in this pregnancy and Atticus has only been sleeping through the night for about two months now (he's 17 1/2/ months). While I'm very much looking forward to the arrival of Number Two, I am not looking forward to giving up sleeping through the night. But you're right: it passes. It all passes so quickly, doesn't it?
"Oh sweets, I know it’s not easy, being a baby. You tell me all about it. You just sit here with mama and you go to sleep in thirty seconds flat. I don’t mind that it’s at my expense. Truly, madly, deeply."
I have had many similar thoughts late at night (and during the day, for that matter) with my 7 week old.
It's a wonderful feeling to know that he's getting big and strong on the sustenance your body gives, isn't it?
oh, how i miss it."
I'm sorry to quote someone, as these aren't my words, but I couldn't have said it better myself. I thought I would never miss the sleep dep. nights and breastfeeding...but I do.I hope we can experience that again (I'm not done yet)
you're doing a fine job, there, even sandy-eyed, mama. your final paragraph, i swear, made me ovulate. ;)
Your description of a mother's eyes-- pressed by that sandy finger-- was just spot on.
And way to grow, little man.
The last paragraph is beautiful. Takes me back...makes me melancholy...sorry those days are over. Each phase of infanthood goes by so fast. We should cherish each phase in spite of the sleep deprivation.
xo