1 Month Old – Jan. 2011

nice blankie

I’m one month old!  My favorite things are sleeping, crying, being wrapped up like a mummy and bounced on the birth ball for hours in the middle of the night, and making my eyes as blue as possible. I’m not as chubby as my mama wants, but she is gung-ho on getting me going “EBF,” exclusively breast-fed.


His mama was not great at exhaustion.  I didn’t have any TV or a comfy chair to watch it from.  I didn’t have a mama group or teachers for breast-feeding, cry recognition, sleep scheduling, baby wearing, maintaining a modicum of “self” and not going crazy. I had a scary side-wall tear that took months to heal, so that peeing was a stinging fearful mess.  I had a preternatural need to make graphs of my son’s behaviors, in 15 minute increments, due to total ignorance about what to actually do. The feeling of being terrified (of?) had increased dramatically, and added to it were feelings of sorrow, loneliness, and constant failure.  Feh somehow sounded like he was soothing my failures while also adding to my feelings of being one, by looking competent at all times, no matter what emotion or word retch I threw at him.


If wishes were horses…

I tried so hard.  I wanted to be the most nourishing, flower scented, easy-going, soft spoken chittering, happy woman,  ever to mother a boy.  I didn’t know myself, or didn’t allow myself to be.


I did the best I could.  I sang to him all the time.  I took him out in fresh air, bundled as needed.  I let him experience the world with every sense he had.  I read book after book about infants.  I took placenta pills, joined a mother’s group that didn’t feel relate-able in the least, ate every breast milk increasing food ever whispered about, pumped fruitlessly, never left his side, and stared at him constantly.  I didn’t have anyone except him to talk to all day, and I was worried about his ability to develop language in such a vacuum, so I became addicted to NPR. For him. Still am.

I love that boy all the way through every single one of my cells.  I did the best I could, which was pretty damn good, if we take a global average. #whitepeopleproblems.


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