Sleepy… but doing better.
I’ve rediscovered the skill of power-napping, which I hadn’t done since my undergrad days. Normally, it takes me a while to get to sleep, and then I sleep (sometimes fitfully, sometimes not) until it’s time for me to wake up, i.e. the alarm clock goes off.
Now, I try to sleep when Daniel sleeps; it was rough going for the first two weeks, especially the first week, when I was drugged to high heaven for pain and a bad histamine response to who the hell knows. It was tough being sleep-deprived, bleeding-sore, *and* drugged while getting the hang of being on baby duty during the week (the Hubby takes over on the weekends).
It was discouraging, throwing all that drug-tainted breastmilk away that first week, when my boobs were engorged with milk. Being medicated, most times I was just too out of it to pump, which contributed to my milk supply dropping *drastically*. I’ve gotten over the guilt of not being able to exclusively breastfeed Daniel — I do what I can now. At least he got my colostrum in the hospital and the first couple of days, before the painful latching issues made me stop. And I still try to pump when I can, so Daniel can get some of my antibodies, especially since the Hubby now has a really bad head cold.
At the end of last week, visitors came and, oh Lord, were they a welcome sight. As an extrovert, being away from the hustle-bustle of my work — surrounded by colleagues and students — with just my son and me for hours on end (unless I make a supply run to Target and Walgreens and Kroger or go to the pediatrician) has done a number on my baby blues. I’m now starting to feel somewhat normal again (yeah, normal — what’s that?). And visitors this weekend have helped to lift that fog: the Bunny, who came over to pick up Polidori stuff and just converse a bit with the Hubby and me; my bro-in-law, who gave us more Starbucks coffee; JG, who has been a godsend, doing “Auntie” duty so I could have a rest and the Hubby, too (since he was laid up with the head cold); my good friend Alexandra (who’s known me since I was 18 years old), who came over with caramel machiatto and held the baby and talked; and Celogomamma, Convivial Dingo, and their brood of five, who came over to cook us dinner and leave us more food so we didn’t have to cook for a few days. And, not coincidentally, so that I could actually eat during the day, as opposed to grabbing a peanut-butter and jelly sandwich in the morning and slowly working through it (when I can) for the next eight hours. Because who has time to cook?
Not me, these days.
Other things I’ve discovered these days are new-found fears, all of them for my little boy. You should’ve seen me last Tuesday, as the phlebotomist at Las Colinas Medical Center was getting blood samples from Daniel’s heel: he was screaming his head off, grabbing at me, as I held him close, whispered, “Shh… shh… sh…” into his little, anguished face, sweated like Niagara Falls, and tried not to cry myself.
And my mother called, apologizing that the family couldn’t visit, because they all got sick from whatever my four-year old nephew picked up at his daycare… and I look at Daniel, knowing that I will have to leave him at infant daycare when I go back to work in a month from now, and I think, “Oh, God, you’re too *little* to get that sick!”
And, as my mom tells me, these worries — these mommy worries — never end. It’s part and parcel of the adventures of mommyhood.
And learning to just let go, and trust that everything will be all right because there are truly good people out there, looking out for your little ones. Really there are.
For all the good people out there: bless you, and God keep you…
(Daniel’s asleep — I wonder if I have enough time to pump for milk until his pediatrician’s appointment? Let’s find out…)