The first week as a new mom was tough. There were lots of people around, I was exhausted, my hormones were waaaaayyyy whacked out, it was really HOT, and Rowan screamed. A lot. You know, once everyone had gone back to their air-conditioned hotel rooms. (Sigh.)
A few days later, everyone left, my hormones calmed down, and the Ambien helped me sleep a little bit. (Doctor approved, btw.) Dr. B was a big help, and things started to get easier.
But it was still really HOT, and she still screamed. A lot.
Then Dr. B went back to work. And I was all alone with her. And I was scared.
The first day wasn't bad, though. She had a few fussy times, but slept well for the most part.
Then came day 2 (bum Bum BUUUMMMMMM!!!!)
After a night where she allowed me a total of 4 hours of sleep (not consecutive), she woke at 5. And didn't go back to sleep. At all. She wouldn't let me set her down for a second, or she would scream with amazing fury. She was gassy, and before each fart would scream. Then she'd fart. Then she'd scream some more. And it was hot. Really hot. So, we sat in her nursery, lights off, fan on, drapes drawn.
She sat leaning on my chest. And nursed a lot. I sweated a lot, the sweat dripping off my greasy, hormonal face. I watched banal morning television, and desperately wanted a shower.
Then, around 9 AM, she pooped. This was great news, as she had some issues with the whole pooping thing prior to this. I happily changed her diaper.
Then, around 9:30, she pooped again.
And again at 10:15.
And at 11.
I gave birth to the Bellagio of Poop. Holy Crap.
So, I lay on the couch in my underwear and a tank top, eating granola bars and teddy grahams, drinking water, nursing her every hour and a half, holding her on my chest, changing dirty diapers, and flipping channels.
Just as she started to calm down and *think* about sleeping, the batteries in the remote control died.
As I was mid flip.
And I had just happened to land on ... motorcross. Great.
Finally, around 1, she fell deeply asleep and I was able to shower. That lasted all of 20 minutes, and she was wide awake again. And wanted to nurse. Again. My boobs felt like humongous raw sacks of pain.
At 2 PM, I had had it. It was 92 degrees, and I couldn't take another minute in our hot house. I loaded the screaming banshee in the car, and we went for a drive. I was nearly hallucinating from exhaustion, tears running down my face, begging her to sleep. It took me about 25 minutes of driving before she closed her eyes. At 2:45, I returned home, set her car seat down, and fell onto the couch and passed out.
Dr. B called a little after 3 and came home early, let me cry for a while, took her and changed her diaper (I admit, I was scared to check. And yes. She pooped AGAIN.) Then he poured me a glass of wine and brought me a whole box of chocolate truffles.
And she started screaming again.
So we took another drive until she fell asleep, and went out to dinner. For some reason, she slept the whole time. I guess all that screaming wore her out.
Thankfully, the days since then haven't been nearly as bad, and we are starting to develop a bit of a routine. She's not sleeping through the night by any means, but now will go 4-5 hours at a stretch, allowing Mom to sleep more deeply without the Ambien. I am still not getting a lot done during the day, but each day I go without crying is a victory. It's getting easier to enjoy her--watching her take in the world around her, seeing her turn her head when she hears my voice, wiping her face when she slops milk all down her face as she eats. I wish I could say it was easy now, but it's not. The doctor says she's perfect, and is doing incredibly well. She's gained a lot of weight in her first two weeks of life, so I guess I am doing my job right, even though it may not always feel like it. It's hard, but it's getting easier.
But it will be worth it. She is worth it. And when she wraps her little arms around my neck, I can feel the future tugging at my heart strings. And it feels good.