Or, more correctly,
Max the Melodramatic
I knew going into all this that it would be difficult. I
didn’t realize just
how difficult it would be. Notice that it has taken me over a month to attempt to write the next segment to this exciting adventure.
Patience and calmness has always been a few of my strengths. Or, at least externally to the public eye they are. Being half Greek, I still do tend to become
slightly overwhelmed and emotional. But, never in my life till now has the patience and the emotional roller coaster collided.
Bringing Max home was surprisingly easy, despite the incredible heat wave Southern California was facing, and the following week was remarkably enjoyable. Max slept all the time, especially in someone’s arms or on someone’s chest, for hours at a time. And even through multiple feedings in the middle of the night and far fewer hours of sleep than we were accustomed to, we were excited to find that we had an ‘easy’ baby to look forward to.
Boy, were we the obvious and clueless first time parents. No one told us that the first week is a freebie.
Our sleepy, content baby boy had now become our worst nightmare. Max had become a colicky and inconsolable baby. Very quickly, our joy of jumping into parenthood was drowned out by the
piercing and endless hours upon hours of cries from of our bundle of joy. Our patience dwindled faster than the diapers and bottles he went through on any given day.
I knew the first couple of months were supposed to be challenging, but finding myself drained of all strength, emotions and sanity was almost unbearable. Time lost all meaning to me and the days became a dizzy and muddled concept.
It’s
heartrenching to see your child cry until he becomes hoarse, waling as his face turns bright red, and his arms and legs flail about. And even worse, I started to feel like a failure. I’d find myself rocking this crying, squirming infant, while I myself cried along with him. The ‘baby blues’ had kicked in.
He’d gurgle and choke on our attempts to comfort him with food, as he cried through glassy eyes. Pacifiers would ease the distress, but would eventually fall out, bringing back the trembling lips. Diaper and clothes changes would be a gamble. If the cards were in our favor, a quick and painless procedure. If our luck ran out, he’d simply lie on the table, half naked, kicking his feet, making it almost impossible to put a new diaper and
onesie on.
One after another of futile attempts would not calm this child down. The swaddling, swaying and shushing method, or my own “jello head” method, were one of the only methods that could calm this baby down, but even then, when he was really in his desperate need, not even they would work.
The next few weeks were a very difficult and hard time to face. I would cringe every moment he’d wake up fussy from his short time of sleep. I
wasn’t getting any consistent sleep myself and quickly my energy was gone. I became a zombie, rocking him or feeding him, attempting to tune out the noise and the grief. Even the far and few moments of his calm and awake times had become nothing to motivate me. Those reflexive
pseudo smiles when he dosed off no longer made my hear heart melt with that amazing happiness and joy it once did.
I
wasn’t enjoying my son. Disappointment, and even fleeting moments of regret, had fallen upon me. The life I knew, and the life we’d hope to make,
dissolved. I was surprised and relieved to find that Jeremy was facing similar feelings. At least I
wasn’t alone in my madness.
No one ever admits to these feelings as parents. Usually, they’ll just tell you this is all normal and it’ll get better. But, when you’re in the moment, those words fall on deaf ears. When time no longer exists, it’s meaningless to look for the magic date that will make things
ok.
But, I've found that other first time parents have faced these troubled feelings to some degree or another. Perhaps they don’t share the darker side of parenting so they don’t discourage other new parents. Perhaps it’s a weakness they're not willing to acknowledge or say. After all, we all want to be Super Mom and Super Dad...
right?
I don’t care to become Super Mom, but I don't want to see myself as a failure to my son either. Simply
acknowledging my weaknesses, and even
knowing that Jeremy was facing the same, suddenly made me feel better, as if all these anxious pent up thoughts and feelings were somehow normalized.
Amidst my own struggles and
shere exhaustion, I started to force myself to keep going. To keep rocking, swaying, holding him until my arms gave out, whatever my child needed. I
didn’t want to be one of those parents who simply gave up to go hide in a dark corner (even though I want to desperately).
Suddenly, the veil was lifted, and I began to see the light at the end of the tunnel. I
didn’t know when this end was, but I knew it was there waiting for me.
The exhaustion is still bogging my body down, and my brain’s consciousness is only so-so (considering it's almost 3am and I have no clue if this entry is even remotely
comprehendable), but I love my son tremendously, and would not trade this time for the world. He’s already growing so fast and I know that I’ll one day look back on this time and be blinded by the hardships and struggles existing right now, only to gaze back in dreamy thoughts that this wonderful little child enriched our lives and blessed our souls.
I’m savoring the moments of him now, when he’s finally sleeping all
snuggled on my chest….the smell of his head….the feel of his soft chubby skin….
I hear that their first real smiles appear about this time…..I’m mending my heart now, because I know it will simply burst when I see it.
