A Day

Abigail has reflux. She’s also nearing on her sixth week on the planet, the combination of which has made her a delight.

And because I am a Type A sort of freak, I’ve been exhausting eveything I can think of to cure at least the reflux and maybe tone down the brightness on her crankiness.

Seriously, you parents know of what I speak. Her mouth turns into an oval, shaking uncontrollably, as her little baby tongue vibrates and changes the pitch of the noises coming out of her little cake hole, which to me sound like a feral cat.

But no. While it’s clear the reflux is being addressed, and my child is no longer suffering, she’s still in the worst of moods. Part of me believes this behavior is a direct response to me and how long I let her suffer, dubbing what were actually signs of pain as “Dra-Ma.” i cannot blame her. I’m such an asshole.

I kind of lost it last night when she again rejected yet another sleeping contraption I’ve brought into this house in the hopes of making out with my husband again.

Look, I get sleep. I get more sleep now than I did when I was pregnant, but what I don’t get is cuddle time with my husband. Sue me. I’m not mother of the year, I know.

My kid wants to sleep on her stomach, plain and simple. And no sleep device lets her do this and she’s still too young for me to just let her, though God help me I obsessively supervised a nap where she slept soundly, by herself, in her crib, on her stomach. It was the sounded sleep ever but there is no way I have the temperment to thumb my nose at collective opinion on infant sleep. Someday soon when she’s not so fragile and tiny.

So yesterday, despite it being a day that included a deep tissue massage and a manicure AND a pedicure, I had to take my leave of my daughter, all because the people at Amazon and Babies R Us who raved about the Fisher Price Rock and Play for babies with reflux don’t have kids who rejected it outright. But my kid did, dashing all of my hopes of telling the story of how we unlocked the code, with Zantac, Enfamil AR and Gentlease and $60 at Babies R Us, and I got to pinch my husband’s butt in the middle of the night if I wanted.

So today I called a truce with Abigail, helped by the six hours of sleep she and i got together on the glider last night. I spent all day being present for my daughter, once again cutting her the slack I would want – she is who she is and right now she is a cranky Mama’s girl, going through a very normal stage of infancy.

We both have cried today, though. As Anne Lamott wrote, truthfully, I guess I thought this was going to be more like taking care of a cat

I didn’t try to do anything but play, feed, bathe, change and serve as mattress to Abigail. It’s worked out well. She’s asleep on my lap, and I’m typing this on an iPad. We’ve watched TV and read stories and played and had a lot of bottles.

I had a Lean Cuisine. My bottle comes later when Daddy gets home.

The most I worried about was whether I dropped an almond or raisin near her mouth. It was decidedly less stressful and cuter. Neither of us are particularly attractive when we’re turned up to 11.

I love my daughter. I’ll miss these days together. I’ll be excited when she exercises her right to sleep on her own, on anything that makes her comfy.