So I had this idea. And now I’m following through.
I didn’t know how to go about it, which question to answer first. But one was a little more time-sensitive than the others, so I’m going with that one.
From my dear, sleep-deprived, yet somehow elated friend Martin:
“How would Ginny get a hypothetical kid to reverse the demonic screaming at 4am and peaceful slumber at 4pm?
Please. Sniffle. Please.”
While I giggled a little (Not at you Martin. Just near you.) when I read that one, it still took me back to a really ugly place. To that time when most of the people who were so excited to tromp through your house, to hold your baby in their germy hands, are now back to their own lives, and it’s all on you. And you haven’t actually slept in a long while. And one of you has some crazy ass hormones coursing through their system (Owen was such a bitch, for like, a month!). And you’re expected to lead some semblance of a life.
I can’t speak for Martin & Mrs. Martin, but for me? That was some pretty crazy-making shit, right there.
And I’m going to say something now. Something that might make people unlike me. But here’s the deal:
Babies are fucking dictators.
When they’re sleeping (or when other people are around), they are magical, sweet, lovely smelling nuggets of perfection.
And when they’re not? Sweet mother of God.
They sense when you’ve gotten comfortable. They know when you’ve just started to drift off. They can tell when you are feeling almost normal.
That’s when they strike. Screaming, squalling, exploding poop from what has to be more than one orifice.
It’s no coincidence that my son’s nickname for the first couple of weeks was Benito.
As in, Mussolini.
And what do you do with a terrorist? Well, you sure as hell don’t negotiate with them.
I know nothing. My first baby slept through the night at 6 weeks (and I know, right now, you’re like “6 WEEKS? I CAN’T GO ANOTHER 6 WEEKS WITHOUT SLEEP! ARE YOU YANKING MY CHAIN, WOMAN?”, but really, it’s gonna go by, relatively quickly), and I don’t know why. It sure as hell wasn’t anything I did. My second baby never slept. The longest stretch she would go, ever, was 2 hours. For the first 14 months of her life. No matter what we tried. (It is no coincidence that she is our last baby. Guaranteed. Surgically.)
So basically, no matter what happens, or when it happens, you will sleep. Consider this your birth as a parent. And the bags under your eyes your battle scars. You’ll never forget this time. But the horror will diminish.
And then you’ll think about starting on baby #2.