I like to post blogs as I have a thought or story to share. Well, tonight is a twofer!! It's 12:17 a.m. and I'm laying in bed with my heart racing, while staring at a baby monitor every two seconds to make sure I see signs of breathing. This is important for me to share because I had anxiety before the baby (my whole life to exact) and now... Well, now I'm a parent. I think anxiety is part of the job, and for any mom or dad who feels bat shit crazy, don't!! I will stay up (writing and staring) until 6 a.m., or until I know he is ok, whichever comes first.
On a daily basis I am not THAT mom. I don't freak out over head bonks, germs, people's opinions, tantrums, or any other daily parenting battle. But when my baby is sick and it's not general teething, eczema, mild fever, congestion, or diarrhea, then I am on high alert. I go from semi laid back mom (I realize this is a matter of opinion) to military attack mode in just seconds. In all thirteen months we've had quite the range of sickness. Tonight took the cake so far. My happy little scoobs has a fever, molars, AND he vomited (three times) for the first time (other than newbie spit up)... I damn near crawled in a ball to cry with him!! All this after vaccines that I am aware are safe, but that cause side effects that I don't think I'd like to deal with... And I don't, because clearly a lot of this is their fault!
He was moaning and whine-crying. I've never heard a more pitiful sound. His poor face before he upchucked on his mom was the saddest thing ever. Jen's face was priceless too, but not in the same way, obvi.
General anxiety supported me all my life: it saved me from doing anything remotely dangerous, risky, or unknown because surely I'd be caught, or DIE!!! Unjustified fear is a funny thing. I had nothing to lose panicking just because I knew that I forgot something that I couldn't recall that I'd forgotten and surely it would catch the house on fire or the door would be unlocked for easy access by an intruder who surely wanted to kill me and I forgot to charge my phone so I couldn't call for help. By 4 a.m. I'd know I was safe, or too intoxicated to care. Mind you, this was in my early twenties... Not last year!
Update: his belly is moving up and down. I think he is breathing. (keeping watch)
We got through the early stages without too many anxious ridden nights. He slept on his belly from 3 weeks or so, and I never sweated it... For some reason, as he gets older, I get a little nuttier. I can also say we love him more each day. Not that we didn't early on, yada yada. But he was a squishy co-dependent loud blob. No one really loves all that! Those are the exes we haul ass away from!! Now he's our baby, our son, our teenager, our future man!! And I will be damned if I let exhaustion jeopardize me watching him sleep to make sure he's ok. I know I will lose the battle with these drooping eyelids, but I will wake to pee in just enough time to interrogate the baby monitor.
Update: he's probably still ok because he just rolled over (you can never be too sure; keeping watch)
No vomiting in two hours, I can probably begin to increase the time between monitor interrogations.
I think the anxiety peaks at night because I worry much less during the day... The night brings on new anxiety because I can't see his little cheeky face or snuggle him to make sure he's breathing and happy. (I suppose) I'm glad that I'm mainly a nut job on the night shift. I'm gonna need shift differential. Because if I was this looney during the day everyone would know!! (No one really reads my blogs enough to share that tidbit with the world). Duh.
If you are a new parent and someone tells you that you're paranoid, anxious, helicopter mom, etc. After you slap them..... Reiterate that the 'goods' you're watching over is worth more than sleep, or mental health, or the tv show that you had to pause to check for breathing. I mean, I turned off Top Model to get puked on. I wouldn't do that for Jen (sorry babe).
A note though, if you are paranoid, anxious, or a helicopter do try to relax. At night, be a freaked out hot mess if you must... But during waking hours you are the parent we all dream of being. Patient, non paranoid, relaxed, nurturing but not in a smothering way, and not counting the moments until a catastrophe strikes. It is paralyzing to live in fear or anxiety or constant panic.
I am learning to balance my motherly panic. I overcame (mostly) my general anxiety disorder (GAD) and then I get PIA (parental induced anxiety)...
Update: He is butt up and arms out. The occasional twitch is comforting.
I hope someone reading this suddenly feels normal and can snuggle that monitor and get some rest!
Signing off for now! Thanks to my blog for listening (and any potential readers).
xoxo
,
Tuesday, September 23, 2014
Monday, September 22, 2014
Being a baby sucks...
I realized today, after a loud noise echoed through the living room, followed by a high pitched scream, that being a baby really sucks. My haphazard ginger flung himself head first into our non kid friendly, badass wooden coffee table. Of course, my eyes watered since he was clearly dying of a head injury as I picked him up from the floor, a sobbing mess. Meanwhile he's getting four (yes, FOUR) molars at one time. I am seriously tempted to give us both some whiskey. Thirteen months old and already the world is against this guy (his view not mine!)
It's a wonder most kids survive all these disasters of head trauma due to angry pointy table corners, eating various plants, and allowing any animal to lick inside their mouth. It's a daily occurance to find Atticus french kissing Fray as they share Cheerios... Or stopping his stroller too close to a bush and then finding random berries in his mouth... Oh, and googling signs of a concussion when he whacks his head on the concrete because you're chatting with the neighbor and your son is crab walking and therefore lands directly on his head. And you look like mother of the year when you don't react. If you ignore them first they usually cry less (hmm, still waiting for the scientific data on that one). Until then, please keep informing me on gossip in the neighborhood while I plot setting you up with my mom. (Motherhood is making me a brilliant multi-tasker)
So back to baby's sucking... I mean, why it sucks to be a baby... Atticus had a slew of shots on Friday, most of which I can't pronounce, but I'm not paranoid enough not to give them to him. So Jen and I manhandle our Hercules son as they announce that they will sting him a little. Really, I thought for sure they'd tickle. He hates to be held down like I hate to run, fold laundry, or be held down. He screams before the shot just because he's trapped by two moms and a nurse. Our poor babies!! We protect and take care of them and half if it is utter torture.
Changing diapers and clothing is also the end of the world. It's like I'm peeling his actual skin off his body... Every time. Although, he still helps put his arm through the correct holes. But diapers... Oh diapers, those are his kryptonite. As soon as those flaps peel off, his ass is off the ground and twisting like a pissed off cobra. The air hits his junk and he is a free man! All the while paying no mind to the smelly shit he's flinging on me, the dogs who are RIGHT there, and the nice carpet. But it sure must suck to be him. As good moms we are bribing him with a toothbrush, butt paste tube, paci, socks, non edible-edible wet wipes, or a bottle, all while making creepy animals noises to distract him.
My point is, in this thirteen months of existence our poor boy is having a rough go of it. And by rough go of it I mean he's an average, normal, clumsy, short-tempered, accident prone baby.
Don't get me started on walking! It must be too much for him!! He's a part timer.
Much love to all until next time. (When I'm not sleeping, eating, cleaning a butt, chasing a ginger, working, studying, glaring at my spouse, feeding a ginger, googling head injuries, trying to shower, petting a neglected weenie (dog), exercising for sanity, cooking, cleaning, or eating)...
xoxo
It's a wonder most kids survive all these disasters of head trauma due to angry pointy table corners, eating various plants, and allowing any animal to lick inside their mouth. It's a daily occurance to find Atticus french kissing Fray as they share Cheerios... Or stopping his stroller too close to a bush and then finding random berries in his mouth... Oh, and googling signs of a concussion when he whacks his head on the concrete because you're chatting with the neighbor and your son is crab walking and therefore lands directly on his head. And you look like mother of the year when you don't react. If you ignore them first they usually cry less (hmm, still waiting for the scientific data on that one). Until then, please keep informing me on gossip in the neighborhood while I plot setting you up with my mom. (Motherhood is making me a brilliant multi-tasker)
So back to baby's sucking... I mean, why it sucks to be a baby... Atticus had a slew of shots on Friday, most of which I can't pronounce, but I'm not paranoid enough not to give them to him. So Jen and I manhandle our Hercules son as they announce that they will sting him a little. Really, I thought for sure they'd tickle. He hates to be held down like I hate to run, fold laundry, or be held down. He screams before the shot just because he's trapped by two moms and a nurse. Our poor babies!! We protect and take care of them and half if it is utter torture.
Changing diapers and clothing is also the end of the world. It's like I'm peeling his actual skin off his body... Every time. Although, he still helps put his arm through the correct holes. But diapers... Oh diapers, those are his kryptonite. As soon as those flaps peel off, his ass is off the ground and twisting like a pissed off cobra. The air hits his junk and he is a free man! All the while paying no mind to the smelly shit he's flinging on me, the dogs who are RIGHT there, and the nice carpet. But it sure must suck to be him. As good moms we are bribing him with a toothbrush, butt paste tube, paci, socks, non edible-edible wet wipes, or a bottle, all while making creepy animals noises to distract him.
My point is, in this thirteen months of existence our poor boy is having a rough go of it. And by rough go of it I mean he's an average, normal, clumsy, short-tempered, accident prone baby.
Don't get me started on walking! It must be too much for him!! He's a part timer.
Much love to all until next time. (When I'm not sleeping, eating, cleaning a butt, chasing a ginger, working, studying, glaring at my spouse, feeding a ginger, googling head injuries, trying to shower, petting a neglected weenie (dog), exercising for sanity, cooking, cleaning, or eating)...
xoxo
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