the truth about the first post-partum trimester

Recently, while browsing in a fun little paper store, I came across this image:

It graced the cover of a small photo album, and when I first glanced at it, I wanted to laugh. But then, once I got to thinking about the kind of photographs I'd put inside it, I wanted to cry.

Yesterday, during a particularly difficult stretch of the afternoon, I took forty photos of Matthew in his element. Most of them turned out like this:

I'm not sure why I kept snapping photo after screaming photo of my unhappy baby other than maybe it was something to distract me from the harsh fact that every one of my attempts to soothe him were in vain.

Generally speaking, when he is awake, he is screaming. If he's not actually hollering, his inability to relax puts him on the brink of doing so. I know he hurts, and I'm doing all I can to help him. I keep him swaddled. I hold him very tightly in the very specific way against my body that he likes. I hold the binky in his mouth since he's usually too upset to keep it there himself, even though he wants it. I've taken him to the doctor, who diagnosed him with reflux. I give him an antacid three times a day. I thicken all of his bottles with cereal (after finally learning, through exhaustive trial and error, the right formula for allowing him to suck it through the nipple without creating a flow that was too fast for him to keep up with). I keep him upright as often as I can. I rock him. I bounce him. I wear him in the infant carrier so I can maybe keep him happy while I make dinner. I pat his back. I rub his tummy. I do what I can to fulfill his desire to be in my arms at every moment, often at the risk of neglecting the two others who also demand my attention (oh, wait -- those two combined are a force that cannot and will not be brushed aside; appeasing them is often just as tiresome as taking care of the newborn).

And I am so tired. My days turn to nights turn to days with what feels like little more than a blink of sleep (because you can't "sleep when the baby sleeps" when there are other small children to care for). I am running on fumes while pushing through a fog. Most days I feel like I am sinking or, at best, barely afloat. Thank goodness for the birth control, because were it not for that, I'd have no idea what day it is. (Also, I could potentially be heading down the same road that landed me here...) Everything around me is spiraling out of control, and I'm starting to lose my mind. I can't remember what I made for dinner last night or what I went to the other room to get. I feel detached and severely lacking the strength to be available to my children. And so instead I want to run away, from this city, from my life in this city. I want to scream and pull my hair out. I want to explode. Sometimes I implode. Usually I just cry right along with him.

So I get to give birth AND change diapers AND wear myself out with a long laundry list of other things to try to keep him comfortable and consoled. 

I'm no stranger to fussy newborns. I know I signed up for this, and I recognize that there are good moments as well as difficult ones. When I can summon the ability to wade through the exhaustion, I'm even able to enjoy them. Saving graces like the swing, which, when he's in the mood, sways him to sleep while freeing up my arms for other tasks, and the baths, which afford us both a few minutes of watery amnesia. There are the [all-too-] brief pauses of serenity in the middle of his wails when he seems to forget what all his fuss was about:

This photo taken only moments after the one above it.

And the evenings when he's relaxed and ready to explore the world around him:




He's not smiling yet, but he's close, and I know that all of this dizziness will be a little more rewarding once he does.

I'm "hanging in there" and "doing my best." I also know that this won't last forever, and a tiny part of me will even admit that maybe, just maybe, I'll miss these days when they're gone. But right now I'm in the thick of it. I feel depleted, and life is dark and draining, and sometimes I wonder if I'll ever be able to find the energy to truly enjoy this baby.