Last night my newborn daughter screamed, and I mean screamed. It was like a mix between a pterodactyl and the sound of one’s anguish after a piano is dropped on their head from a five story building. Or maybe that’s what my head felt like after two hours of her screeching and wailing. For reals, it was pounding.
As I tried every trick up my sleeve, every secret, gassy baby hold, every lullaby, every rocking chair, and every type of pat, burp, and bouncing available, to no avail, I remembered. I remembered what it’s like trying to get accustomed to life with a newborn. Yeah, it’s easier than the first time, but it’s still a chore.
I’ve been reminded, and I’ve been reminded big time. Every time I try to do anything other than hold the baby, I’m reminded.
I’m reminded that showers are not a necessity; they are actually a sweet, sweet gift. They’re a prize for which you strive and dream for. They’re something you struggle to obtain, but nine times out of ten, don’t achieve.
I’m reminded that I can accomplish nothing. Not one. Single. Thing. Nothing.
My house is a shambles. My hair is a mess. My laundry overflows. My sink begs for attention. And all my bills are late. I mean, who can think about balancing a checkbook in the face of sustaining the life of a very tiny human being? Ain’t nobody got time for that.
As I feed her, rock her, and gaze at that precious, squishy face, it all seems worth it. Of course it’s worth it! It’s crazy; I’m crazy. But it’s a good crazy. Right?! I’m tired, so tired, but she feels so good in my arms. I lightly brush my hand across her peach fuzz head and a crooked smile appears on her soft, pink face. And I fall in love all over again.
And as I gaze at this little slice of Heaven, this piece of my heart that resides outside my body, a crying toddler comes running loudly down the hall hiccuping complaints that only I can solve. A sleeping baby wakes with a startle, and I’m reminded. I’m reminded again how “challenging” life with a newborn can be.
It’s challenging to leave the house. It’s challenging to cook dinner. It’s challenging to tie your own shoe with one hand. Because that’s all you have. One hand. When you have a newborn you only have one arm; the other is always occupied.
I could hold her forever, but eventually everyone else has to be fed something other than chips and gummy snacks. They need clean underwear. And you need to use the bathroom. I’m not saying I’ve breastfed on the toilet, but I’m not saying I haven’t.
It’s challenging.
It’s challenging to try and change your diet for someone else.
Did the onion in my lunch make her gassy?
Oh God, why, why did I drink that caffeinated soda after 8pm?!
It’s challenging to try to find wardrobe choices that are not only breastfeeding friendly, but that also fit around a new, more than ample bosom. Not to mention a shirt that looks nice in the face of a belly that still appears four months pregnant.
It’s challenging.
It’s rewarding.
It’s wonderful.
It’s hard.
It’s the new normal. For now.
It will be doable again one day. One day I’ll look up and realize I’ve been doing something for myself for a full twenty minutes. No one is crying, everyone is being self-sufficient, for the moment, and it’s actually kinda quiet. Oh Lord, it’s quiet! What are they doing?!
For now, I am just getting by. Each moment is achieved from nap to nap. From feeding to feeding. From poopy diaper to poopy diaper. So many poopy diapers. That is my new normal. For now.
I’m adjusting. Slowly but surely I’m getting used to painful breasts, spit-up down my cleavage, and doing things for myself in fifteen minute bursts of time. I’ve done it before, and I can do it again. It’s just an adjustment.
Plus those itty, bitty baby cuddles are the best!
But I could do with a little less of the midnight screaming. I’m only human, after all.