Tuesday, July 27, 2010

Lilah of New

To say I've been busy lately would be a ginormous understatement. It's been a slow descent into fuss-filled chaos with the baby boy. Finley may or may not have the C-word (the one that rhymes with "frolic," not to be confused with the C-word that rhymes with "hunt"). Reflux medication, changing formulas, propping his bed, propping his head, changing his bottles, and purchasing a $20 bottle of Colic Calm all lead me to final swallow my pride and read up about colic. It described too many of Fin's symptoms to simply be coincidental and we've realized we were probably the one in five parents of a newborn that didn't dodge that bullet.
It's been the challenge of challenges, but surprisingly to all parties involved, I've risen to meet these demands. Rob and I spend many an evening tossing Fin between each other like a hot potato, and tag-team the toddler wrangling like a couple of rodeo clowns. The Lilah of Old would not have gone so quietly into these dark nights. Lilah of Old would have been a spoiled, sleep-deprived mess. I don't handle stress well, but I am worlds better than I used to be. Old me would have been kicking and screaming right along side these other two. Looks like I'm becoming an adult after all.
Many friends had informed me that life with two young children is very chaotic, but you "just do it." Like a super-mom themed Nike commercial, I suddenly know exactly what pals have been telling me. My commercial features a Baby Bjorn clad me in a 50-yard bottle making sprint while simultaneously changing a poopy diaper. Forget the inspiring theme music, and insert me singing "Don't park so close to me" (to the tune of the Police's "Don't Stand so Close") while maneuvering a parking lot. I can do it, and am doing it with the best of them. The endurance and stamina required for a colicky newborn and fiercely independent two-year old is nothing short of athleticism. (Nike, please feel free to contact me for further marketing ideas with this mom-empowerment campaign).
Lately there have been many times I have never felt so exhausted, frustrated, overwhelmed, guilty, inept, and out of control. But there are new developments as well. Better time management, coping skills, extreme multitasking, and huge improvement in suck-it-up factor have all been added to my momming-repertoire. I guess you just do it because you have to. It's part survival and part innate mothering capabilities. Woman have been mothers to two or more children for centuries, but this is a big life transformation for me. We're going stop while we're ahead and stop making babies. I was created with two arms for a reason. If God wanted me to have a whole Gosselin-load of children He would have given me more hands. I'm feeling tired and anxious most of the time, but most importantly, capable. That is all the can-do this fabulista needs.

Sunday, July 18, 2010

Post-partum moment of the month

Setting: Sitting outside Athens Regional Medical Center.
I had just been discharged earlier that day and absentmindedly forgotten my perineal cleansing bottle. After going to two pharmacies and a medical supply store, Rob dropped me off at the hospital to get another one.

Me: don't cry, don't cry (as Rob drives up with the pizzas and Grace in the car)
Rob: "What's the matter???"
Me: "THE NURSE WOULDN'T GIVE ME ONE!" sob sob sob...
Rob: "Why not?"
Me: big sigh, trying to collect my overreactive self, "She said couldn't give me one after I had been discharged already. She said it was just a ketchup bottle, but it's not, IT'S NOT A KETCHUP BOTTLE!" sob sob sob...
Rob: gives me a sympathetic glance
Me: wiping my eyes, "Ugh, I'm sorry, I feel ridiculous right now, I have no idea why I'm crying about this. I'm ok now."
Rob: more of the sympathetic glance, gently pats me on the leg.
Grace: starts trying to cry in response to my crying
Rob: laughs, "I'm sorry I'm laughing, but this is so ridiculous and funny."
Me: sniffle, sniffle, "I'm not mad about you laughing, I'm just obviously not feeling like myself right now. Did you happen to pick up my Cymbalta prescription from the pharmacy?"
Rob: "YES."

It's not a ketchup bottle, bitch.