The Dark Age

AKA the first 6-8 weeks. What a blur. Where to start? The fact that she was born four weeks early makes her lethargic. She really has no interest in eating. At first, I think, 'This is great! My baby is such a good sleeper!' But then I can't even wake her up to eat. I realize she isn't just taking a nap, she's taking a coma. Back to the hospital we go. She lost too much weight and her body can't retain her temperature, so she is hypothermic. Wow, way to make me feel like a horrible parent. Mom Fail #1.

Back to the Hospital. My Little Glow Worm



I start pumping so we can measure how much she eats. I remember something was wrong with the TV remote in our room, and the only channel I could watch was the weird hospital channel that played "soothing" music and zoomed in to a cow standing on a hillside. Exactly how I felt at that moment. It quickly became clear that I didn't produce enough milk and we needed to supplement with formula. Nooooo! Evil factory-made-with-ingredients-I-can't-pronounce formula! Mom Fail #2. This took me a while to get over. I like to have plans, and formula was not included in my plans. Somehow it made matters worse when I went to buy some, still hoping we wouldn't need it for long, and it says right on the front, "Experts agree breastfeeding is best." No shit. Screw you Enfamil. The sharp knife of failure wasn't cutting deep enough before, now it's really in there. Thank you. But I did get over it. I still pump, and we still supplement, but she's getting all the milk that I can make for her, and I am happy about that. 

Just give me the milk lady, and nobody gets hurt

You may be thinking, 'The Dark Age? Really? Perhaps you  had a few hiccups but isn't that title a little hyperbolic?' No. And you know why? My Husband. I will preface this by saying that I love him dearly, and he is a great husband and an amazing father. But I wanted to kill him. Or torture him until the point just before death. Two weeks after she was born, he went back to work. His life went back to normal. He worked all day, came home and held a happy baby and then went to bed and slept all night. Sometimes before bed, he would even play video games. My life was nowhere near normal. My body looked like a deflated balloon filled with pudding. I slept in 45-minute increments all night, broken up by hour-long feedings, after which she would still need a bottle, and then I had to pump for the next feeding. Ugh I'm tired just typing it. During the day, I would not sleep when she slept. It was the only time I had to get things done. Like showering, or laundry. Sometimes I even got to eat. It would take all day for me to get the both of us ready to go grocery shopping. My hair usually had spit-up in it. I got peed on, shot at by streams of poop, splattered by projectile vomit of my own breastmilk. All day, everyday. Then Travis would come home and ask what was for dinner, and make little comments like "wow the house is a disaster." Sometimes my only joy would come from fantasizing about the horrible things I would do to him while he slept. Soundly. All night. He wouldn't even stir when she cried, and he if he did wake up, he made no move to get up. Once he groaned and threw the covers over his head and turned over. I wanted to take thick resume paper and give his wiener several deep papercuts. And then squirt it with lime juice. It didn't help that my hormones were all screwed up and the thought of being touched made me recoil like a roly poly bug. I had lost that loving feeling.

I am happy to report that things are better now. Me going back to work put us on a more level playing field, and Baby Girl started sleeping through the night at 8 weeks. (Thank you Baby.) I became more sane, and he became more helpful. Life got better. To all the new moms or mommys-to-be out there, I want you to know: This Too Shall Pass