Just over 6 weeks ago, Baby Grouch arrived. She is strong and healthy and a lovely little peanut.
She is also somewhat lumpy and squeaky and sloshy – as newborns tend to be.
During pregnancy, my body ventured into uncharted hormonal territory – that is – my hormones seemed to even out and become what many would call “normal”. My moods were relatively even and my anxiety level was low. I was less anxious and more calm. My skin, which is notoriously spotty, was smooth and bumpless. My blood pressure even registered within the normal range for the first time in years. I stopped having ridiculously vivid dreams that left me half-dead in the morning. I was sleeping better than ever, and since feeling good is so boring, I had nothing much to post onto this blog of mine. Pregnancy viking, I was.
Well, the Morning Grouch is making a grand re-entrance. During labor, the blood pressure spiked, and has returned to hovering on the borderline range. My skin has dulled and a few spots have returned. The dreams are slowing coming back and Ms. Grouch has been getting a maximum of 2 hours of solid sleep in a row for the past few weeks. And the kicker? Lately everyone is calling me “Ma’am”. REALLY? MA’AM?? UGH.
A few Saturday’s ago, I woke up, more exhausted than usual, at the midnight feeding and at the 3 am feeding. When I heard the baby start to stir again, I asked my husband if he could feed the baby before he went to work, to give me an extra couple hours of sleep in a row. Naturally, the baby didn’t actually wake up until it was almost time for him to leave, so he said he didn’t have time to feed her.
I was not particularly happy about this turn of events, and didn’t have any extra energy, so the result was me not responding a whole lot when he was talking to me, and me being pretty short with him. He asked if I was mad at him about something. No, I insisted, I am just TIRED. He pointed out that even though I was tired, I was not talking to Baby Grouch with anything less than a loving and soothing tone, and I was, in fact, reserving any negative expression for him and him alone.
As he brushed his teeth and got ready for the day, I pondered what he said. It was true, no matter how tired I was I had enough energy for the baby. So, was I mad at my husband? Then, I realized I was. And, I wasn’t. Emotional-Rollercoaster Me was very angry, since I was doing most of the work taking care of Baby Grouch. What the eff, why can’t you feed your own child? What is this nonsensical talk about not having enough time because you have to go to WORK. Work shmerk. I’m TIRED. And you said to let you know when I needed your help! And I NEED IT NOW! RAWR!
But, then, I wasn’t really mad. Logical-Me wasn’t angry at all. Logical-Me was so thankful that my husband was changing diapers, and feeding the baby and asking me what he could do to help. Logical-Me appreciated that periodically he would ask me if I was feeling okay (checking for postpartum issues, as instructed to do in his Daddy Boot Camp class).
So before he left, I explained to him this nonsense about being angry and not angry at the same time. I may or may not have shed a few tears out of frustration. I think he nodded and backed away from me, slowly….
The day continued to roller-coaster.
Baby Grouch and I were listening to Greek Baby Radio and I heard a song about a black cat. I got very excited and happy since we happen to have a favorite fuzzy being in our house who is also a highly pigmented feline. So I laughed and sang the song to the baby. Suddenly all was swell, life was good, and I was giddy and carefree.
Fast-forward 2 1/2 minutes and the next song was about parents loving their little baby so much. Se aga po, agapi mou! Suddenly my humor turned to joy, but a sappy, sad and tearful sort of joy, at remembering how hard it had been for us to get this little pipsqueak and how grateful we are now to have her.
Wow. In a span of hours my emotions had spanned the galaxy.
I texted my husband and let him know that his wife knew she was crazy! Knowing is half the battle, right?