Stop crying…just stop…stop… please…. PLEASE STOP… just 30 minutes…. I just want a shower…. please…. stop…. STOP!!!! Have you officially lost your mind when you are negotiating out loud with a 2 week old? I have lost it. I am insane. I have done this to myself. What do you want?!
You are changed, you are burped, you are warm, you have napped, you just ate 1.5 hours ago…but wait, let me guess… you are hungry AGAIN! Ugh. Seriously? I have a whole new respect for dairy cattle. You do know these boobs are mine, right? That’s right buddy, always have always will be mine. They are merely on loan to you. So I would treat them with a little more respect if I were you. I don’t know what the hell you do to make my nipples burn so bad. Do you know I want to cry just THINKING about the next time I have to pop these babies into your mouth (which is clearly lined with razor blades)? I thought breastfeeding is supposed to be a loving, bonding experience, not cruel and unusual punishment.
And could you just, for one freaking day, be unhappy when you are on your father’s watch (however brief that may be)? Is it seriously necessary to CRY all night long until you pass out from exhaustion at 3 in the morning? Can you not get this out of your system from 5 to 7 pm?! I think your dad thinks I’m a lunatic, or that I’m weak, or both. Well, he has to believe me because I make sure I call him every damn time you are shrieking while he’s gone to offer him evidence of why I’m such a raging bitch when he’s home.
I thought I could escape this cave today. That we could all have a nice outing. I timed it perfectly. 2 hours of freedom between feedings. Ballet class for Hailey…. FAIL. The last one was LAST week, which we would have known if we actually remembered to take her to it last week. Okay, so we’ll go get some ice cream at DQ instead… FAIL. I left my wallet at home. Go home to get wallet. Back to the store. You aren’t asleep anymore. You are now getting fussy. It’s only been 1 hour and 15 minutes since your last feeding. I change your very dirty diaper. Still not happy. Head to Whole Foods in search of a new water bottle… FAIL. You are screaming too loud to even try to look for anything. I notice other new moms with fussy babies. They are so sweet to them. They rock them gently and the baby stops. They sweetly talk to them and push them out to the car to go home. I am looking at you saying, “That is enough. Seriously. I don’t know what you want. You have no reason to be crying. Please stop. I’m not going to listen to it anymore.” I realize I sound like such an idiot/incompetent parent. I quickly head back to the car. Hailey still wants ice cream. I feel bad she’s had to listen to all this and didn’t get to go to ballet. We head to McDonalds for shakes. You are screaming so loud that the lady can’t even hear my order. I am crying in line for milkshakes at McDonalds. I get home. Scott meets us outside to help get you out of the car. I have called ahead for back up. Of course, you have STOPPED FUCKING CRYING!! I feed you. I don’t even eat the milkshake I got for myself because it’s dairy and it’s chocolate – two things that supposedly turn you into the demon child. See? I have given up chocolate and ice cream for you! Please be nicer to me.
NOW you decide to nap. Now that you can go lay down with your dad. I want to go nap with you, but it’s not even worth the 30 minutes of sleep I will get before you will inevitably decide you want to eat AGAIN. Disrupted sleep is worse than no sleep sometimes. It is a form of torture to only let someone sleep 2 hours at a time.
18 days old