There isn’t a day that goes by where I don’t feel badly for something I do to Emory or something he does to himself. Take right now, for example. I put him in a car seat so I could do the dishes, write this, and tidy up. Why does this make me feel as though I’m taking advantage of the little guy? He’s perfectly happy, sleeping soundly, but I still feel badly.
And we have a rule in this house that whenever he gets the hiccups we pick him up. Because the hiccups really bother him. He gets a look like, “What is this spasm? Please stop the spasm.” So we pick him up and rub his tummy. If I don’t catch the hiccups in time, I feel sad. And I apologize to him. And then I think of the number of times he had them in the womb (every night at least once) and I feel badly that I didn’t console him then, too.
Sometimes he punches himself or scratches his face with his razor sharp nails. I have a talk with him, try and reason with him.
He doesn’t get to sit up much and is instead forced to lie around and try and expel gas while the veins in his forehead plump up and his face turns blood red. It looks as if he’s giving birth, dealing with labor pains. I try and help him by pushing up on his feet and sometimes a flying fart will shoot out and go straight up my nose. And after that happens I cheer for him because I know that means he’ll feel relief until the next one.
And pooping while on one’s back should be used as a form of torture.
There was that one time he pooped in the car on the way home and it went all over him. That was terrible especially since we spent at least a half an hour trying desperately to get through Holland Tunnel traffic. I wanted to yell to the other drivers, “I HAVE A NEWBORN IN THE CAR! AND HE IS COVERED IN HIS OWN POOP! PLEASE LET US GO AHEAD OF YOU. PLEASE!” If there’s one thing New York is known for it’s forcing people to tolerate a lot of stinky crap.
And taking him to the doctor and having to strip him down so they can weigh him? That’s almost impossible for me to watch. Thank God Tobyjoe isn’t a wimp.
I’ve already warned Toby that come vaccination time, I’m waiting in the other room. With earplugs. Hopped up on Xanax. Drunk.
And the first time he suffers from a broken heart? Bitch (or dude!) is going down.
You know what all that means? It means you’re a great mother! Something about the kids brings out the softies in us. I used to beat up guys, now I’m cheering my son on to poo. (Yes it’s poo, not the s word) How ridiculous, but it’s so fun! Does Emory grunt when he’s doing a number 2? Dex grunts so loud I bet the neighbors can hear him!
oh my god, yes. he grunts like a champ!
Maybe that’s more related to your earlier post but you really should not blame youself for a basal cell carcinoma on your upper lip. Unless you are a practicing muslim or fancy very wide brimmed hats this is a part of your body that always gets exposed to lots of sun.
This does indicate that you have a genetic predisposition to that kind of stuff which justifies annual visits to a dermatologist.
No I’m not just saying that to sound cute, cancer is one of my research field.
Anything else on your back, shouders or legs is your fault though ;-)
You realize, of course, that asking him state capitals will get rid of the hiccups. You taught me that trick after all.
ha! I did think about that, Missy. I did. He gets the hiccups all the time, poor feller.
I guess I watched too many of my friends never put their kids down and then their kids were tethered to them at like 1+ at which point I knew I could not mentally handle that. I think I felt relief that heck I do function without Grace on me. More importantly, she could function fine without me on her. I loved the car seat on our dining room table because I could cook or do dishes – fold laundry and talk to her about what I was doing. I put a ton of dangling toys in our chandelier so Grace would be entertained when my back was to her. This morning I was late getting ready for work because she crawled in my lap and just laid there asking me to scratch her back.
I still cry when I hear the music from her mobile and her tummy time mat. I think back on those first couple of months just watching her in the crib or on the mat and it was just so overwhelming the love and emotions for this little person.
I guess what I am saying is I hear you but dont feel bad (you are doing really well at this mom thing) you need to tend to yourself sometimes so you can give Emory and Toby your all.
Stumbled upon your today site and love it! And wow, I can’t imagine how crappy (heh) it would be to have to POOP while laying on your BACK. Geesh. Poor babies.
Hi there! I’ve been lurking on your site since I found it googling “morning sickness, 1st trimester, blogs”. My due date was August 7th, very close to yours, but I ended up being induced two weeks early.
Anyways, I wanted to comment for a while because I’m so comforted knowing that there’s another new mother out there that’s experiencing THE SAME THINGS. I’m not nuts. I’m not a horrible mother. I’m not doing anything wrong.
I was doing the whole breastfeeding/pumping/bottle feeding thing. And during that time I dreaded the night. I’ve had mild depression. I’ve cried.
Things that I’ve cried about:
I have to give my baby formula.
She was born early.
I missed the hospital and the nurses.
My mother could calm the baby down better than I could.
I thought the baby liked my mother in law better. She hates tummy time.
She doesn’t smile often.
I’ve looked up many of the same things that you posted a few days ago (she jerked her head around while on my shoulder and my teeth hit her in a soft spot – I waited for the seizure that never happened).
Thanks for sharing your experiences as they happen – it really helps to know that I’m not alone!