It’s after 2am & I can’t sleep. I’ve been lying in bed for a while now with my hoards of pillows, & my eyelids seem physically incapable of closing. Like that particularly creepy episode of “Criminal Minds” where the killer glues the girls’ eyes open… yeah, like that. Brain is racing with worries & thoughts. This parenthood thing is a big freakin’ deal. I have no idea what I’m doing. And I’m not dumb or naive enough to think that merely reading a book (or in my case, 5 books with more in my Amazon cart) will miraculously make me an expert. Or even take me to apprentice-level.
There are the feeding philosophies — demand feeding or scheduled feeding? And the sleeping philosophies — co-sleeping? “Cry it out”? And scary theories, like your baby won’t trust you if you let them cry, & there’s a higher risk of SIDS for babies who sleep alone. There’s our childbirth class instructor, who told us that it’s literally impossible to spoil babies during the first 2 months. But then there’s the mom who started CIO at one week old because you’re supposed to “start as you plan to continue.” And then there are the blogs that I’ve been reading today, the words of girls like me, who are just doing the best they can, & they literally felt like their skin was being peeled off when their babies cried. I can’t imagine letting Rose cry. But I can’t imagine what life will be if I never allow her to cry.
And breast-feeding? That’s a whole other giant ball of worry. The latching on & the cracked nipples & the pulling out the boob whenever there are hunger cues & what the hell IS a hunger cue anyway & the hoping that a schedule somehow miraculously happens & that Rose starts sleeping before Bobby & I start hallucinating from sleep deprivation. Not to mention the anxiety of trying to learn HOW to breastfeed with people in our house… because I know that there are going to be people in our house, & when there are people in our house, I feel like I have to be the hostess because it’s my house & they’re my guests & that’s how it works.
When I think about it all, I want to cry. And there’s absolutely no reason for crying (besides the fact that it’s going on 3am & I’ve given myself a nasty-ass headache). It’s going to work out. I know it is. I wish I could take a pill to turn my brain off. If wine were an option, I’d so be popping cork right about now.
I’ve gotta get a grip. This is stupid. I refuse to let anxiety over what might happen mar the last 20-something days of my pregnancy. I’m so damn thankful to be here, to be experiencing this. Yeah, I’ll probably screw it up & have the most spoiled, non-sleeping, demanding little creature that ever was spawned. But who freakin’ cares… Bobby & I have waited too long for this to not enjoy it now that it’s finally actually happening. We’re having a baby girl & her name is Rose. And I absolutely cannot wait to meet her & hold her & love on her & breathe her in. Screw the fear-mongering parenting philosophies. We’ll figure it out. Eventually.
Ok then. Now that this entire rant has gone full-circle, I’m going back to bed & I will lie very still with my eyes closed & think good thoughts until I am asleep. At which point the snore-monster will attack & Bobby will be sad because he’ll be awake listening to his wife the wild animal.