This was written on October 4, 2001
Eric is full of surprises. About half an hour ago, he got fussy after having been happily in his exersaucer for almost an hour. I figured he was sleepy, so I picked him up and rocked him. Sure enough, his eyelids drooped, but he kept fussing. Usually if he fusses longer than two minutes when trying to go to sleep, he's hungry, so I made him a small bottle, which he ate. When it was gone, he started fussing again, which usually means he needs more food. I put him down in his playpen, planning to leave him there while I went to make a topper. As soon as I put him down, he rolled over onto his left side, put both thumbs in his mouth, and went to sleep. Literally in one second. Was he fussing because he wanted to be put down to sleep by himself instead of being cuddled? Go figure.
Whenever he is in a transition, his routine breaks down for a few days. I don't know what change he's going through right now, but he definitely is breaking out of his routine. He poops twice a day, or not at all. Two nights ago, he ate his bedtime meal so early we thought he'd never make it through the night: he slept twelve hours, and when I brought him down for breakfast at 8:30 the next morning, he played happily in his swing while I fixed his bottle. He was happy to get it, but he didn't cry or fuss for it at all. The next night, he ate a big meal late in the evening, so we figured we'd get a really good night's sleep: he woke up howling for food at 3 a.m. So last night, thinking he might be re-introducing a night time feeding, I finally set up the Playskool Nighttime Feeder I bought used months ago. It has a cooler to keep the bottle cold, and then when you're ready to feed the baby, you pour a little water into the heater unit to make steam, pop the bottle in there, press a button, and voila! Didn't need it; Eric slept until 7. Since I wanted to sleep in, I gave him the bottle from it at 7 and then he and I went back to sleep until almost 10.
When I woke up at 9:40 or so, he had rotated in the bed so that he was perpendicular to me with his feet in my armpit and the rest of his body stretched out along the underside of my arm. Very cute.
Gotta give credit to the Target brand diaper he was wearing: it was on him for 14 hours and when I finally took it off him I think it weighed about six pounds. But it did not leak. This is why we don't put cloth diapers on him at night.
We are happy to have Scott home from San Francisco, and I suppose he is glad to see us. But last night I was picking David up from work, and I spotted Scott entering the building (he had a meeting there yesterday evening). I honked and waved hello. Scott waved back, then gestured to me to drive down to him. I drove down, rolling down my window in preparation for a quick, friendly chat. Scott went right to the back door, opened it, and started googling at Eric in his car seat. I said, "I am the vessel that bore him, you know." Scott said, "Yeah, yeah. How long are you going to try to milk that?"
David and I used to greet each other like this:
David: "Hi, sweetie."
Su: "Hi, birdie."
Now it's like this:
Person who has been caring for Eric: "Hi, sweetie."
Person who has been away from Eric: "How's that baby?"
Sometimes I need David to be responsible for Eric for some part of the evening; I just need some part of my day when I am not responsible for him. But then I will do something like I did last night: first I got all whiny and pathetic: "David, can you take the baby? I'm so tired." So David took Eric, and three minutes later I had followed them into the sunroom so I could google at Eric while David changed his diaper.
Now that Gracie has learned to say "baby Eric" she is incorporating it into many of her standard sayings: "Good morning, baby Eric," "All is well, baby Eric," "Eat your breakfast, baby Eric."
I am discovering that a certain kind of pathetic nostalgia is part of being a parent. How's this for sad and humiliating: this morning, I was changing the bag in the disposable diapers diaper pail, and the new bag was the last bag from the roll of tall kitchen trash bags I bought for the baby changing station when I was pregnant. For a moment I felt like, "awww, I remember when I bought these trash bags, when I was pregnant and joyfully anticipating the arrival of the baby." Then I slapped myself, said "Get a grip, Penn," and took the trash out.
At least I didn't add the trash bag to the "baby--to keep" box where we put outgrown things we can't bear to get rid of, like the little outfit with the ducky on it that he came home from the hospital in, and the crappy ugly cap they gave us at the hospital.
I finally feel a little better today; last night I doubled my dose of muscle relaxant (this is a legitimate use: the label says "one or two tablets at bedtime" and I had been taking only one). I notice this morning that I feel much looser. And the Plantar Fascitis which has been making my feet hurt seems to be improving. My upper arm muscles are still sore, probably from lifting Eric all the time, my hands still hurt (ditto), and my knees are still sore, making it hard to get up out of chairs or go up and down stairs. But some improvement in my back is very welcome. I have been feeling like I am just falling apart. On Saturday, I was a wreck emotionally, both cranky and weepy. David said, "What's wrong with you?" and I said, "My arms hurt, my hands hurt, my back hurts, my knees hurt, my feet hurt, I'm nauseated, I have diarrhea, and I'm losing my hair." Perhaps in a few days we can take "my back hurts" off the list.
Posted by Su Penn at December 10, 2003 04:12 PM | TrackBack