The two months following her birth have literally flown by, yet somehow the days seem to drag on and on. She truly has been an easy baby, catching on quickly to breastfeeding, napping, being clothed, and other strange new experiences that don't generally occur in utero. Our days mostly consist of feeding, wake time, fussing, naptime, feeding (et cetera, et cetera), with the occasional outing squeezed in between naptime and feeding. As one can imagine, it's easier to stay at home, which is what I've done for the most part. Not the best plan for someone who goes stir crazy in no time flat. Even though we're in a beautiful new apartment (TWO whole bedrooms and bathrooms!), I quickly out grow every single set of four walls and start to go batty pretty easily these days.
This whole past week I've had the flu. It started on Monday, but I felt fine come Tuesday, so I wrote it off as food poisoning. Not quite. It came back with a vengeance no less than eight times on Wednesday night. Thus began two days of house arrest where I relied completely on my husband and wonderful honorary Mama to care for me and for my baby. I lived on saltines and ginger ale but kept breastfeeding so the antibodies that were fighting the flu in my body would transfer to Tiny's body so she wouldn't get sick. Finally by Saturday I felt like a human again. It was swelteringly hot in the afternoon and the baby was fussy, so we drove around the Bay Area in the shelter of our air conditioned car. So excited to be in society again, I suggested we head to our favorite restaurant, La Mediterranee. Tiny had just been fed, and if on the of chance she got fussy, it's Berkeley, so I would be completely at home wrapping her up in the Moby and wearing her like the crunchy mom I attempt to be. Not so. The MINUTE our food arrived, she began to scream, and she continued to escalate the intensity of her anger (frustration? discomfort? brattiness? who knows...) to the point where I'm positive the person in the bathroom (near where I was attempting to wrap her) must have thought I was ripping her limb from limb. The louder she got, the madder I got. The madder I got, the guiltier I felt for being angry at my baby who clearly was uncomfortable. I was angry that she was crying so ferociously, I was angry that I couldn't get her to stop crying, I was angry that I couldn't even eat five minutes' worth of dinner before she decided to go postal, I was angry that the first time out of the house as a family in four days is when she decided to have the hugest meltdown EVER.
She screamed the majority of the drive home, and I finally snapped. Like a five-year-old I covered my ears and started screaming too, because that's the rule, right? Fight screaming with screaming? When that solidly thought through plan failed epically, I burst into tears. Two months of motherhood and all the confusing, agonizing, frustrating emotions that accompany it were being released and I sobbed nearly the whole ride home (long after Tiny had finally settled herself down).
The purpose of this lovely anecdote is to explain the purpose of this new phase of my blog. I had been subconsciously bottling up my emotions over the past two months and as a result, I lost it. I desperately do not want to be one of those moms who "loses it" at her kids (I know, I know... it's probably going to happen). But I am going to take every opportunity to release steam little by little, and I am going to start by being honest. Raw. Real. No holds barred. I'm going to tell motherhood like it is (or at least how it is to me). I'm hoping the honesty will help me find nuggets of humor and wisdom that I'm sure hide amongst the craziness of life.
I hope my readers find some humor in my life, too.