I have started a separate document to keep track of milestones like "first smile" and "slept through night" because I realized that Eric might someday be curious about things like that and might not like to wade through 4000 pages of diaper changes, housecleaning, and me wondering what to do with my life to find it. I have only two milestones in there so far, his first smile and Thursday's amazing sleep (which he and I shared) from 10 p.m. to 5 a.m. I call that sleeping through the night, even though my night usually extends until 9 a.m. or so. He didn't duplicate the feat last night, but that's OK.
Whenever he sleeps an extra-long time, longer than he has slept before, and especially if I wake up before him, my first thought is always, "Is the baby OK? why has the baby not awakened me?" But there he always is, sleeping peacefully and in perfect health. As we get used to sleeping together, my sleep gets deeper and more natural, and that's good, on the one hand, but contributes to the occasional time when my eyes pop open, I think, "The baby!" and I have to check that he's breathing. Which is easy when he's sleeping beside me; one of the advantages of co-sleeping is that if you're the kind of nervous mother who wants to check her baby's breathing status, it can be done as often as you like without having to get out of bed.
One of the disadvantages has to do with those leaky diapers we were using for awhile.
The smile has not become a regular feature, though he has an unmistakable look of pleasure sometimes. Yesterday he was sitting near me in his bouncy seat and got a little fussy for a moment. I put my hand down to stroke his head, which often settles him, and he smiled the sweetest, happiest smile. I was thrilled for a moment, until it became clear that in the moment between him fussing and me stroking him, he had started to go to sleep (with his eyes open, his usual way), and it was just one of his sleep smiles. Scott said it was as if Eric had looked deeply into my eyes and said with heartbreaking pathos, "Mom, I love...sleeping."
We had a rough evening last night. Rough for us. Eric fussed off and on for almost two hours! We decided we wouldn't complain much about it; although we were confused and frustrated trying to figure out what he needed, it really wasn't bad. "Fussed off and on for two hours" is small potatoes compared to what some parents and babies go through.
I do not know any lullabies and am not interested in learning any, so I sing Eric any songs that I happen to feel like singing--Gilbert and Sullivan, pop standards, hymns, show tunes--with only some attention to singing quiet songs when he's going to sleep and peppy songs when he's awake and playing. Yesterday I dropped David off at work, and in the car on the way home suddenly fell madly in love with a Joni Mitchell song, one in which she sets "The Second Coming" by William Butler Yeats to music, with generous modifications. I've heard the song a million times, but suddenly I just wanted to hear it over and over, so I listened to it over and over all the way home, and then sang it to Eric all day. I got worried that it would warp him; here is the first verse and chorus:
Turning and turning within the widening gyre, the falcon cannot hear the falconer. Things fall apart; the center cannot hold, and a blood-dimmed tide is loosed upon the world. Nothing is sacred; the ceremony sinks. Innocence is lost in anarchy. The best lack conviction, given time to think, And the worst are full of passion without mercy.Surely some revelation is at hand.
Surely it's the second coming and the wrath has finally taken form.
For what is this rough beast, its hour here at last,
slouching towards Bethlehem to be born?
It only gets less cheerful. But then I decided it's no worse than "and down will come baby, cradle and all," and at least this song has the virtue of being literate. I am impressed by the simple declarative sentences that make up most of the lyrics, and I think "the worst are full of passion without mercy" is apt and timely. It's also...what's the musical equivalent of literate? It is beautifully set to music; the melody is lovely and complex, and the chorus intense without relying on volume for its intensification. Joni Mitchell is pretty good.
I recently read a description of parenting as "feeling like being nibbled to death by ducks." I was not sure what that meant, but I think I may have begun to figure it out. The last few days, I have felt how endless my chore list is every day, none of the jobs big, but all requiring constant attention to keep things moving. If formula does not need to be mixed up and bottled, then the dishwasher needs to be run so there will be clean bottles when the time comes. If neither of those things is pressing, Eric's laundry needs its second rinse, or to be folded and put away, or the diaper pail needs to be emptied, or the thermos of warm water we use for cleaning him at diaper changes needs to be re-filled. Each of these things is small and takes only a few minutes, but they spread themselves through my days and evenings like beads on a string. And sometimes into the night, as well. I have been known to start Eric's laundry at one nighttime feeding, do the second rinse and move it to the dryer at the next, and fold it first thing in the morning (can't do that anymore, now that he's only getting up once during the night. What a loss!). It makes me a little tired, sometimes--even as I write this, I am trying to be mindful that a second rinse is soon to end, so I can move his laundry to the dryer. And, of course, there are other things to be done in between all these immediate, daily things. In a recent e-mail, I said I had managed to do nothing on my to-do list, then listed a bunch of stuff I had done. I meant to say that my time had been so occupied with the things that are so daily and immediate that they don't even make it onto the to-do list that I had done nothing else. Constant attention to these things is required; if they were not kept up with, chaos would quickly ensue. It can be draining.
I should re-read Kathleen Norris's The Quotidian Mysteries, an essay on the sacredness of daily tasks like laundry. If I become spiritually evolved enough, I can re-frame these tasks as my Daily Office and make them holy. So I'm told.
Eric is staying home with Scott this evening while David and I go to a movie. It's our first baby-free outing (except once when Scott watched him for a few minutes while we dropped a car at the mechanic. I don't think that really counts). I am looking forward to it, but also feeling anxious. Will Eric have another fussy evening and drive Scott crazy? That's the big worry, that Scott will never want to do it again because Eric was too troublesome. Probably that won't happen, though; probably they'll have a fine time. Probably even if Eric fusses, Scott will be willing to spend time with him again. Scott seems to like Eric pretty well.
Posted by Su Penn at July 21, 2003 09:25 AM | TrackBack