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Life with JJ -- the first months (cont'd)

Sunday

He's definitely staying awake longer, between feeds and such, which is neat, but also means it's more difficult for me to plan naps. I wore jeans today, for the first time this year -- felt nice, even though there is only one pair that I really fit into. I need to start doing some exercise soon, and try to get some semblance of a figure back.

Baby is unsettled, although he seems well enough if carried about. He just seems bored, although I'm sure you shouldn't be bored already at 10 days old. To tell the truth, mommy is a bit bored herself.

Apparently, he will need a cot by 3 months, as he'll have outgrown the carry cot by then. 3 months?! Do they really grow that quickly? I feel actual pain at the thought, I quite like him the size he is now. I try to remind myself that babies aren't like puppies, and stay cute for quite a while, but it's little consolation.

Breasts leaking all over the place, when the baby feeds, when the baby cries, when I lie on my stomach -- I've stained half the house and my new silk shirt.

I hear squealing downstairs as Mom tries to amuse the baby....how will I ever get by with no one on call to amuse him? As it is we get up every couple of minutes taking turns -- when I'm alone I may just have him surgically attached to my hip to save running around like mad.

Do you have to teach little boys how to clean their foreskin? Good Lord, how am I going to manage that? I'm already panicking on how I'm going to teach him to pee standing up, let alone things like cleaning. And should I get jockey underwear or boxer shorts, and all the other insane secrets of masculinity that I've never needed to know about. Life would definitely have been simpler with a girl.

I try to write while he nurses, which isn't exactly easy. He's only had short naps today, he must be exhausted. I know I am. He has this look on his face (in between glares) like he's already afraid of missing something.

At the moment he's so tired he's having real difficulty staying on my nipple, and just clawed the hell out of my breast with his fingernails. I am not looking forward to trimming them, I'm convinced I'm going to end up chopping off a finger or something.

God, my bits are trashed: sore, bruised, stitched all over, and that ligament which is strained or bruised or whatever it is that ligaments are when they aren't right. And the midwife is coming for a check-up; the last thing I need is someone else prodding around down there.

Connor pants quickly, and I try not to consider what that means, since he does it all the time. Let's hyperventilate and panic mom! That was fun! When he falls asleep, especially when it's quickly -- in mid-cry or as he's looking about -- I swear I want to shake him and make sure he's still with us. His head lolls back, his breathing goes inaudible, sometimes his tongue even hangs out of the side of his mouth, and I hear DeForest Kelly in my mind saying "He's dead, Jim."

He opens his eyes as I shift, and then glares at me reproachfully as I get up to put him in his cot. Now he lies there with his eyes all squinty and a pursed up mouth, resentful at being banished to his bed. What does a 10-day-old find amusing? He makes small sounds, and I tense up, awaiting a loud cry. I want to finish reading Gone with the Wind, as I am forever hoping that Scarlett will come to her senses and fall in love with Rhett before it's too late. It doesn't matter how often I watch or read it, I can't help thinking that this time it'll be different.

He continues to make his little groans and pant, probably desperately hoping his mom will come and find out what's wrong with him, just as I'm desperately hoping he'll quiet down and fall asleep. I'm sure I'm causing some kind of infantile rejection trauma by ignoring him as long as I can feasibly get away with it. Poor love.

Maybe if I turn out the light he'll get the hint.

Monday, August 1st

I really like him in the mornings. God knows why, when it's like today. 7:30am: too early to be up and too late to go back to sleep. He was up most of the night again last night; he's in his cot again now but fidgety and vaguely unhappy. I wish he'd learn to smile, so that he wasn't always either frowning or neutral.
...

We went to the Arndale shopping centre in a taxi with him in a sling - he slept pretty much through it all despite being smashed up and jiggled about -- amazing really. Now he's awake and "really bored" according to my mother, but I'm ignoring him. I'm really exhausted and my bits hurt. I have to call the midwife, but it sounds so silly: "everything is fine, low blood loss, no cramps, but there is a really offensive smell emanating from my vagina." "Yeah, so what else is new," would insist most of my ex-boyfriends.

I bought some breast pads, in hopes of trapping the milk before I ruin any more blouses. Somehow the thought of stuffing my bra, especially at this bra size, seems ludicrous at best.

Still can't get into most of my clothes, I really need to get on the ball with the post-natal exercises. What I would give to be able to flounce about in mini-skirts again - a lot of good it will do me, with huge bags under my eyes and milk-stained tops and baby spit on my shoulders, but I can dream, can't I?