I keep thinking, “don’t blog about this. You’re going to want to forget about this”, but I want to remember just what it’s really like having an infant so that I never do this again. It’s awful. Let’s say it like it is, OK? It’s awful. And exhausting. Awful and exhausting. It is not only physically exhausting, but mentally too. Mostly because Ray is not on a schedule.
I need to add that it is intensly terrible to have an infant who is not on a schedule, when you have 2 other boys who are on a schedule. A rigid school schedule. Liam’s preschool actually charges you $15 for every 5 minutes you are late picking him up. yeah.
I am constantly coming up with new theories about Ray and why he doesn’t nap well. Napping has become the major issue around here. Short, irregular naps are the norm around here and it’s killing me …. slowly. I tried figuring out his schedule, but he didn’t cooperate. I then thought it was food allergies or some reaction to the food I was eating, so I have literally exhausted myself taking things out of my diet: milk, then gluten, then citrus …. I hate it. My new theory is that he seems like he’s not getting enough milk and he’s hungry because he keeps waking up early and wanting to nurse about every 2 hours again … like he reverted back to being a newborn. My nipples are a mess these days. I am tip toeing around the house whenever I put him down to sleep, watching the clock like my life depends on it and calculating when he should eat, sleep and be wakeful and then everything falls apart because he never sleeps long enough and the whole calculation goes to pot and we have to start over.
Well, I’m tired of starting over. I’m tired of watching what I eat. I’m tired of a screaming Ray every time I put him in his bed. I’m tired of thinking about a new plan of attack. I’m tired of being fat and having a tire around my middle. I’m tired of everything. I want to run away somewhere, alone and just sit in silence. No crying. No mealtimes. No nursing on sore nipples. No noise. No appointments. No laundry, dishes or messy beds. No responsibilities.
I wonder how long it would take for me to actually be bored with all that. Doing nothing. Seeing no one. Hearing nothing. I’m guessing it would take a long time. I guess it would depend on where I was doing all that nothing-ness. Like I’m pretty sure I would never get tired of it, if I were doing a whole lot of nothing in Mexico on the beach. It would take months before I was actually bored of THAT.
I need to remember this, so I’m going to paint myself a picture of what life is these days:
Imagine yourself in gray sweats and Daniel’s gray sweatshirt, with no makeup on, hair frizzed out and in a pony tail. Now imagine that you go out in public like that … pretty much all the time. And you don’t even care.
Imagine yourself nursing every 2 hours, which means you really only have about an hour in between feedings, what with burping and changing diapers in between. Then imagine yourself hearing your screaming baby every hour. Every hour there is a reason for you to hear him screaming and crying – because he’s hungry, messy, cranky, tired, being squeezed and poked by Liam, ya know, a whole myriad of reasons to be screaming at you.
Then imagine that you never go on dates outside of your house because your baby won’t take a bottle or generally be happy with anyone but you. So date nights consist of falling asleep watching BYU football games with Daniel on the couch.
Imagine yourself fat. For a looooooong time. We’re talking about pregnancy fatness and then months, maybe a year or more afterwards where you don’t want to spend money on clothes because who knows how long you’ll be this size … so you end up wearing skirts and sweat pants all the time. And when you can’t wear skirts because it’s too cold, or sweat pants because they’re in the wash, you have to struggle into the one pair of jeans you own in size …. let’s just go ahead and say it …. size 14. yeah. you were once a size 8. Now 14. So you struggle into those pants and guess what? They don’t even cover your bum. size 14. don’t cover your bum. So imagine yourself hiking up your pants every time you bend over, get in or out of the car, or just walk for 15 feet. And when you use a belt, it cuts into your middle and you look like a snowman. Imagine yourself …. as a snowman. This is a very vivid picture, no?
There you have it. Way too much information that I will, no doubt, want to forget. But can’t.