Let me tell you 'bout my beeeest friend...

I get this question a lot -- "How is Tuck doing with the baby?"

& I could write a long post about how much she loves him, how she nudges him on the head the way a mother dog does to her pups, or how obsessively protective she has become of him & our home. But I'd rather let pictures do the talking:

Being Harrison's favorite kick toy.

& sometimes, Tuck offers moral support during Tummy Time.

But after all that hard play, it's time to nap again. On each other, for safe-keeping.

But most of the time, they hang out under the gym like the popular kids. Tuck licks him & he coos back.

Proof that you do not need to boot your dog just because you're having a kid, no matter what the breed (we received some negative flack for having a Shepherd mix with a baby). We did spend the year I was pregnant working with her -- honing on her obedience, working on social skills at the dog park & play dates, & making sure she knew the nursery was a "calm" room where she is expected to sit or lay the entire time. The result? A boy's best friend.

But for now I'm rocking my baby, & babies don't keep...

But children grow up, as I've learned to my sorrow

So quiet down, cobwebs. Dust, go to sleep.

I'm rocking my baby. Babies don't keep.

~Ruth Hulburt Hamilton

Dear Harrison,

Today, we celebrate the past thirty-one days. Thirty-one days of bliss. Thirty-one days of tears. Thirty-one days since you were born. Thirty-one days since my life changed forever. Thirty-one days that flew by so fast, I fear that the next thirty-one years will pass in the blink of an eye.

Last night, I sat in your nursery & rocked you, even though you had been passed-out with the bliss of being milk-drunk for 30 minutes & even though your father was begging me to come to bed. But I rocked you because I could...because you are still so dependent & wee that you curl into my neck, little baby whimpers & snores that I so longed to hear. I rocked you, because I know that it brings you "home," as it does for me. I rocked you, because I fear that far too soon, you will struggle to get down. I rocked you those extra minutes, because I waited an entire year to do so.

I rocked you, even though I had a load of laundry, waiting to be flipped over. A blog that sits neglected on the internet, void of much true posting in the past month. A dog that begs to be walked, & a husband that needs to be kissed. I rocked you, memorizing the lines on your little face, even though I can see the dustbunnies under my china cabinet. I bent down & kissed your cheek, inhaling that sweet post-bath baby smell. I laughed at the way your lower lip stuck out in a full pout. & I know that at this time in my life, I've never been more thrilled to have a filthy house, bills that are stacked on the kitchen table, & dinner that is often not made until 9pm.

Because last night, I rocked you, soaking you in & knowing that you can't stay this little forever.

How is it that I am already packing away newborn sleepers & pants, re-arranging drawers to make room for 3-month clothing? Have you already grown so much that we've doubled the amount of formula you drink every bottle? Has it really been a month since the first time I heard your little "uh-huh uh-huh" cry, or kissed your platinum Donald Trump hair?

I thought back to my hopes & expectations while I carried you & I asked myself -- has it been everything I dreamed of? It has been better & more than ever expected. & I look forward to the new hopes & expectations that I have for you as you grow. So grow, Harrison. Grow, even though I cling to you & your newborn sleepers, wishing I could keep you this little forever. Even while I rock you longer, knowing that babies don't keep.

I love you forever.

Love,

Momma

Harrison, 1 month.

Since several have asked...

Cow Baby Legs -- from Target. I bought them a few months ago, but think I saw them at our local one just a few weeks ago. $9.99 per pair, roughly?

Whale sweater -- Carter's. der. You can probably snag it super-cheap since it is "last season" now.

Four Weeks.

The strangest thing about four weeks? When people ask me about Harrison, the first thing that pops into my mind is the pressure & pain of childbirth. Not his blonde hair, not the early-morning wake-up calls...but my pelvic area almost begins to ache remembering the pressure of pushing. I wonder if that will ever stop, or if I'm doomed to be a freak that squirms in her pants 20 years from now.

But it's worth it, just to have this little lad in his wee whale sweater:

Zantac isn't just for old folks. But Blair's biting hate can be.

Harrison has reflux. If that was not BLINDINGLY OBVIOUS TO EVERYONE BUT HIS MOTHER.

On Friday, I sat in Dr. Hottie's office on a cold vinyl bench, running through a list of reflux symptoms as he cauterized Harrison's belly button (because oozing gold funk is not attractive). We chatted about spit-up, coughing, the hours-long screaming post-bottle, & how at almost a month old, he still didn't like to take more than 2 oz per feeding. The final kicker:

Dr. Hottie: "Does he ever arch his back during or after a feeding?"
Blair: "oh, he just stretches a bit. You know, like 'oh what a wonderful bottle!' & stretches with his arms over his head."
Dr. Hottie: ::blank, pointed stare::
Blair: "OH. MY. GAWD."
Dr. Hottie: ::bursts out laughing::
Blair: "Listen, I will slip you $5 and a Pumpkin Spice Latte if you don't mention this to Nate. Because I will NEVER live this down."


Needless to say, he immediately sent in a prescription for baby Zantac. It was food time, so I fed Harrison in the exam room quickly, but since we were tying up a room, I quickly burped him & unceremoniously plopped him in the carseat. Crossed my fingers, said a prayer, & braced myself. Just as expected, the hell-cat screaming of reflux began at the check-out line. I crouch down, rock the carseat & offer Harrison his paci. Just 5 minutes, I promise him in my mind.

Cue the grandmother in front of me, helping her daughter check out with their one-week-old twins. "Do you think he's hungry?" she asks. I smile & say, "No, he's not hungry." Trailer Trash Barbie, aka a mother wearing Daisy Duke cut-offs with a toddler on her hip stalks up, glares at me under bleach-frizzed bangs, & rolls her eyes at Harrison. I arch my eyebrow at her. She's at the pediatricians. A baby is crying. That's not exactly a recipe for calling Guiness, you know?

::tap on my shoulder:: "I'm sorry, but he's crying like he's hungry," the grandmother persists. I smile tightly & say, "He's not, I promise. I just fed him." The over-involved stranger offering parenting guidance is not needed, mmkay? Harrison's screams increase. Trailer Trash Barbie behind me heaves a massive sigh & mutters, "Can't she get that kid to stop?" just as Grandma Nosy clucks her tongue & snips, "I'm pretty sure he's hungry!" for a third time.

& I promptly lost my shit as the exhausted Momma Bear in me roared. Whipping around to Barbie, I snap "DEAL." Then I turned on Grandma, biting out, "No, he's not hungry. I know this because a) I am his mother and b) I just fed him. He's screaming because he just ate & he has reflux, which means that right now, stomach acid is burning up his esophagus. Does that sound comfortable? No? Because I'm pretty sure you'd scream your head off if you had stomach acid eating your throat alive."

BLESS HER HEART.

I should feel remorse. & in a way, I do for lighting into someone that is twice my age. But honestly? I'm glad I snapped. I am all for the "village" raising a child, but when I am obviously attempting to soothe my child while reassuring you that he is not hungry, it's time to back off. Harrison was not hurting anyone. I was not hurting Harrison. BACK. OFF.

Thankfully, we're done with Grandma & Barbie & Harrison's Zantac seems to be working quickly. His burps are less wall-shattering & juicy, his screams are more managable, & the coughing & arching has practically stopped. We had a rough couple of days figuring out what worked best as Harrison attempted to cluster-feed 1 oz per hour to soothe himself. He was feeding to soothe the reflux. The constant small feeds created a child that was never truly full. & the needing to eat every hour created an overly-tired child that could not nap. After 24 hours of the cluster-feeding & me borderline on needing to be admitted to a room with padded walls, I put him in the Moby with a paci to hold him off.

& cried the entire time. I typically feed on demand. This went against every grain in my body, but instinct told me "BREAK THE CYCLE" of the cluster-feeding. & guess what? It worked. Two feedings later, he was back on his 3oz every 3-4 hours schedule. You know what else works? Keeping the kid upright while he sleeps, compliments of the bouncer:

p.s. I know, it looks like the SIDS risk from hell. But I promise, he's buckled in & cannot slide under the blanket. & I do check on him. oh, & we put the bouncer in the crib to keep Tuck from licking him to death while he naps. Slobbery dog kisses do not bode well for long naps.

oh, and add the Fisher Price Soothe & Glow Seahorse to my list of favorite things.

Moral of the story? Go with your instinct. On a diagnosis from the pediatrician, breaking cluster feedings, & doing something as ridiculous as putting a bouncer in the crib.

As eloquently put in the 40 Year Old Virgin: "Show me your instincts!"

A Few Of My Favorite Things, aka I'm imparting the assenine wisdom of being a mom for a whopping 3 weeks.

So, here it is. A run-down of the things I love, the things I hate, etc. for being three weeks into the game. I always find it so interesting how every mom's list is different -- bottle sterilizers, for instance, are always 50/50. Some swear by Swaddlemes, but cannot figure out a Moby. But off the top of my head, these are my must-haves & my leave-alones. & remember that opinions & favorites lists are like assholes -- everyone has one & they all stink. Grain of salt, but maybe it will help someone who is about to pick up their registry gun & face ye olde Wall of Nipples.

Flannel receiving blankets a la Carter's (get ready for my love affair regarding all things Carters). Perfect for swaddling, light & compact enough to carry in the diaper bag, & great as an emergency burp cloth. My one word of caution -- wash on a delicate setting in cold water, then dry on a delicate setting to keep them smooth & soft.

There are no words to express my love for the Fisher Price My Little Lamb swing. NO WORDS. Every morning, Harrison happily swings for a good 30 or 45 minutes while I have a cup of coffee, check my email, & clean up a little from the night before. Also a plus when he's fussy -- just plop him in with a paci, get the swing going, & within minutes, he's quietly glaring at the little lamb mobile.


Fat, fluffy blankets if you have a fall/winter baby. I usually use them for stroller walks or tossing it over the car seat when it's a wee bit cooler outside. As I type, Harrison is snoozing in his Boppy with one snuggled over him since we keep it pretty cool in our house. Carter's makes them, but I'm a big fan of the one's from Target made by Circo (the upside of snagging them on sale for $9.99).

Newborn nipples for your bottles. You'll need at least 6, if not 8. Our bottles came with 1 month + nipples, but Harrison was choking on the formula, making a 10pm Target run necessary on our first night home. & to wash those little nips...


Bottle Sterilizer. I know, I know...50% of moms love them, 50% say they are $30 in the trash & unnecessary. Mark me in the former category because I adore mine on an unhealthy (but undoubtedly sanitary) level. We don't run our dishwasher often, so this is the perfect option to washing them in the sink, then popping all bottles, nipples, & pacifiers in the microwave for 2 minutes. Fast. Easy. Steamy. Like me in bed with my husband.

Soothies. No explanation needed. & no, you can never have enough. One for the stroller, the car seat, a few for the diaper bag, one to continuously wrestle from the dog, & one that will inevitably get wedged in the couch cushions with popcorn pieces & rusting pennies. In our house, we take it one step further with the Wubbanub, which helps keep the paci in his mouth & simultaneously gives him something fluffy to grasp. WIN.


Carter's fleece footed pajamas. LOVE. My girlfriend, Susan, brought a pair by the hospital & I immediately fell in love. She had the smarts & thoughtfulness to realize that a) Harrison was smaller than anticipated & b) the temperature dropped over 30 degrees from when we entered the hospital, so we were probably lacking anything warm in the newborn-size. The Momma & I promptly ran out & bought 3 more pairs within 24 hours of being home. They are so snuggly, soft, don't shrink, & easy to get on & off -- perfect for both fast stripping after spit-up or the bleary-eyed 3am diaper changes. & they're so damn cute with the puppy ears on the feet.


The Moby. If you read my blog, you know that this needs no other explanation. Best $40 ever spent. Exhibit A. Exhibit B.

and finally, for those that use formula, Munchkin Formula Dispensers. Get at least 3, if not 4. Yes, they're convenient for the diaper bag, but what I love most is how easy they make night feedings. Every night before bed, I fill up 3 bottles with water -- two 2oz and one 4oz bottle, & fill the dispenser accordingly with powdered formula. That way everything is in his nursery for the night to just pour & shake for bottles, eliminating any need to trot up & down stairs.



Things I'm not wild about:
1) Swaddlemes. Total waste of money, in my opinion. Harrison hated them, plus they were too thin to keep him warm. Maybe the fleece ones would have been better, but a blanket is just fine. Plus, he had his arms out of it in under 2.5 seconds.

2) Sleep outfits without feet. Don't even bother, for serious. No feet means socks, which Harrison kicks off during his sleep. & then he cries because his feet are cold, not that I blame him -- cold feet at 3am are nothing to joke about.

3) Fancy burp cloths. Just use plain pre-fold cloth diapers. You can snag 12 for roughly $10 as opposed to 3 pretty ones for $10. & we go through them like Sherman went through Atlanta.

4) Baby monitor. Our house is decent-sized at 1650 sq ft & two stories, but we don't use a monitor. Seriously, when the kid is awake, he lets us know & it echoes through the entire house. It also keeps us from freaking out over every single peep he makes in his sleep, which keeps me asleep & Nate sane. The only time I can see us using ours is next summer, when we're out on our screen porch at night past his bedtime.

An unpopular opinion.

& an undoubtedly controversial post. One that I may likely regret posting, but feel it is fair to address since I was shocked to find I was not the only mother that felt this way.

Last week, a girlfriend of mine & I sat down to chat babies. We were discussing the ins & outs of reflux, colic, incessant crying on both our parts & the babes. I laughed because sometimes, I do tell my child that he's acting like a jackass, despite what some readers feel is inappropriate. Is it inappropriate? Sure. But if it helps me laugh when I'm home alone, floundering on very little sleep, staring at a child that has been screaming for 2 hours straight, then the word "jackass" that he cannot even comprehend yet is hardly a threat to my child. & in talking to my friend, we both agreed...

We, as mothers, understand Shaken Baby Syndrome.

Wait. Read on before you call Child Services on me, or write some hateful diatribe as a comment.

I understand where Shaken Baby Syndrome comes from. I am not condoning the action, supporting it, or saying that it is remotely okay to harm a child in any way, shape, or form. I did not say that I shake Harrison, or will ever shake Harrison, or that I ever lose my cool to the point of no return. & if I did feel that way, I promise you that he would be in his crib to scream alone while I locked myself in another room to call Nate before I ever harmed a hair on my child's head. But when he is screaming at such a fevered pitch that I can feel the blood rushing in my ears & I start shaking from heart palpitations...yes, I compute where it comes from. I'm bite my lip, & tears run down my face as I stare at a little human who is red-faced & inconsolable, making me powerless over the own chaos of my life that I created. It's unnerving. You have those moments where you stare into your child's face & say, OH MY GOD, WILL YOU JUST STOP CRYING?! & when they don't (which they won't), you want to slam your head into the closest brick wall simply to escape. So I get why an uneducated teenage baby daddy with no support system would pick up the child & shake it in frustration. I get why a mother with severe PPD, lacking the logic to pull her back to rational thoughts past the emotional & biological reaction to the crying, would have urges to throw the baby out the window. I GET IT.

& the friend of mine & I agreed, most other parents would get it, too. & it makes you feel dirty & unnatural. So nobody would ever want to admit it.

I love Starbucks, but for the sake of maternity leave, I brew at home.

Nate & I have developed a new code to describe my day where he asks, "What does your coffee cup look like today?"

Translation: Is our child behaving & letting you be sane or is he being a jackass?

For when Harrison is an angelic little babe, he swings happily for a good 45 minutes in the morning while I clean up the kitchen, get a cup of coffee, & check my email. & then he goes down for a morning nap so I can shower, make beds, & start laundry. Fantastic routine, no? But when he's a cranky little booger, I spend my entire morning juggling him on my hip, singing insane tunes about how I wish he would sleep, & pulling my hair out all while wistfully staring at my untouched mug.

This would be today's cup of coffee. Notice how it's still full at 11am, despite being brewed 3 hours prior? Obviously, we had one of those mornings that I'm sure Satan delivered himself. After a mere three (non-consecutive, mind you) hours of sleep last night, Harrison & I were up for the day. Where he fussed, screamed, ate two bottles, refused to swing, & basically tried to burrow himself back into my uterus via my neck. You know that feeling, where the kid is over your shoulder & ferociously kicking & nuzzling so hard into your throat that you say, "KID. I promise, you cannot physically get any closer to me!" After 2 hours of this madness, I wiped away all disillusions that the child would settle into a nap & I settled his Pampers-swaddled butt into the Moby:


and we had peace. & while part of me wishes I could pull him out & put him in his crib so I can catch a snooze since he's finally sleeping, I dare not wake a sleeping baby. Which is why I finally have a moment to do laundry, blog, & make sure the kid has clean bottles for when he awakes.

& it takes me back two weeks, where Dr. Hottie complimented my calm in his office & then described this period as "Survival." Plain, old-fashioned survival. & I looked at him like he had five heads because honestly, I didn't feel like I was in survival mode. My kid was sleeping incredibly well. He was sweet, content, & easy to soothe. The only thing in survival mode was my house, which has not seen a vacuum or dust rag in over 2 weeks. But I was showering every day, even getting make-up on, & blissfully enjoying 4+ hour stretches of sleep.

MY GOD, WHY DID I NOT FULLY APPRECIATE HOW GOOD I HAD IT? Because it's like Harrison woke up last week & said, "OH SHIT, I'M NOT SUPPOSED TO BE THIS COOL YET." & then let out a holler that they heard all the way in Bejing aquatics cube.

& I haven't enjoyed a cup of coffee since. Self, welcome to "survival mode."

Hold me closer, tiny dancer...

Hello, friends. My name is Harrison. I have a cow on my shirt. & today, I would like to discuss something very serious & equally awesome with you...



Baby Legs. SHUT UP. THEY ARE NOT LEG WARMERS. & even if they are, so what? Real men can wear dance accessories. & pink. Because they help Momma wipe my bum with ease when pants & socks are not involved. Especially when I have two explosive poops in under 15 minutes. & what in life is better than a good butt wipe?

Nothing.

Except maybe cow print baby leg warmers.

Trick or Treat!

A few days late. So feel free to egg my blog in response.

As you can see, Harrison was the angry monkey in the closet from Family Guy.

I don't know why he's so pissed when he had TWO pumpkins in his honor. oh, probably because Momma let her mums die. Damn.

This morning, my heart completely stopped.

Which is a rational reaction when you wake up at 6:30am on a Saturday, roll over & snuggle your husband, murmuring "Thanks for taking night duty, babe. I really needed the sleep."

and he rubs his bleary eyes & says, "What are you talking about?"

My heart stopped. My entire world stopped.

Because I realized that my 17-day-old child hadn't made a peep from 11:30pm until 6:30m. Seven full hours. I clutched my throat & ran into the nursery. Panic. Hyperventilating. Nate on my heels, saying "Oh, my God" like he was choking.

Only to find Harrison still snuggled in his crib, breathing the deep baby sleep & pursing his lips.

My entire body deflated. Literally, the air wooshed out of me & I hung over the side of his crib, forehead on my arm, hand on his little chest. Thanking God for the steady rise & fall.

We sludge back to bed, crawl into each other's arms, & Nate says, "I guess that's what they call 'sleeping through the night,' huh?"

"It's amazing how fast you went down."

This would be what Nate said to me the other night in bed. Concerning my belly. Yeah, that's what he said.

It was an excellent chuckle.

But when you're too exhausted & busy to eat, it's pretty easy to drop weight.

I'm still swollen to the point that the discovery of my ankle bones will be Nicholas Cage's next National Treasure adventure, & my wedding rings are still lonely in my jewelry box. But my face is finally looking thinner & Arnold the Double Chin is rapidly taking his leave. I finally stepped on the scale yesterday morning, just out of curiosity. Only up 20 lbs pre-pregnancy. Not too shabby considering that the Monday before delivery, I topped a 54-lb total weight gain. The Biggest Loser has nothing on the "diet" of giving birth. I'm mostly curious to see what my running schedule will be like after all the fluid disappears -- aka how much actual fat I gained due to the cupcake overdose.

p.s. i did break & attempt to put on my pre-pregnancy jeans this morning. they fit up over my hips, but buttoning is an entirely different story. oy.

Brave New World.

I decided to take on the universe today with Harrison in tow -- our first outing alone!

I made sure he was adequately fed, freshly diapered, tucked in his carseat with a hat & blanket, Wubbanub in hand. Slapped concealer & blush on my face so he wouldn't be humiliated by Momma's post-partum acne, slipped sunglasses on to hold my hair back. & got half-way out the door.

When DUH! I realized I left my cell phone upstairs.

It's 2009! I have a fresh baby! Who on Earth would brave the world for the first time as a new mother without a cell phone?!?!






Obviously, a person who also forgets to put shoes on.

This is where I feel like an ass.

I think we figured out what has been going on with Harrison to cause the demon-screaming.

This is borderline humiliating to admit.

No, seriously. It's that simple. & stupid. Worthy of revoking my parenting license.

See, last Friday at Dr. Hottie's, Harrison had regained all of his lost weight plus some, putting him at a whopping 8 lbs, 9 oz. We were beaming. Dr. Hottie was proud & said that with him gaining like this, there was no reason to wake him to eat anymore. Which would work lovely with a typical newborn that only sleeps 2-3 hour stretches at most...bring in my child, who would easily sleep 4+ hours if I let him. & let him I did. Compounded with stopping the logging of all meals, we had one hell of a new-parenting fail.

Do you see where I'm going with this yet? Anyone? Bueller?

MY CHILD WAS HUNGRY.


Point & laugh, people. Point & laugh. Trust me, there is NOTHING you could say to me right now that would make me feel any more idiotic or defeated. & I say defeated in the most tongue-in-cheek way possible. Because it's not like the child can sit up & say, "MOM. WTF. MORE FORMULA, KITCHEN WENCH." But it still creates a scenario where I want to bash my head against the wall to beat out all incompetency. & even more embarrassing? When I started logging his meals again on a whim, I STILL DIDN'T NOTICE IT THROUGH THE BLURY-EYED EXHAUSTION. It took my mother staring at it for 2 seconds to say, "Blair...I don't think he's eating enough. This isn't adding up."

Enter a stream of tears & expletives (on my part, not The Momma's, who is a good Southern woman with no vulgar vocabulary). He was sleeping through feedings, but never making them up since he wouldn't take more than 2 ounces at each feeding, no matter how hard we tried. & therefore, he was skipping meals. So yesterday, I made it my mission to keep the kid fed on schedule, even if it meant waking him up.

& guess what? NO SCREAMING LAST NIGHT.

How did I let myself get so overwhelmed so quickly to the point that I didn't notice this?? How did I get so defeated so easily? Was it exhaustion? Letting his cries confound me so badly that I couldn't think clearly? Too much exposure to voltage via hair dryer? Lack of gin in my life?!

Thankfully, The Momma found me sitting on the floor of my bathroom, bawling my eyes yesterday afternoon while he finally napped. & quickly reassured me that I was doing just fine, that it was all a learning curve. That obviously, Harrison did not suffer any long-term effects & I could simply keep logging his feedings. & then bless the woman, she volunteered to spend the night so Nate & I could get in a solid REM cycle.

Fed baby + rested Momma = new start.

Here comes the sun, doo-doo-doo-doo....

A big, massive, donkey-sized thank you to those who commented or offered encouragement last night. I felt like I was at the end of my rope (& how quickly I got there after only 11 days!) & I definitely felt encouraged. & got a ton of excellent tips, most of which have been implemented in the past 12 hours.

Today has been better...so far. We were up until 3am, then back up at 5:30, Nate got up with him at 6:30, I fed him at 8:30, & then he slept until noon. Yes, NOON. So thankfully, I'm not that tired since I did get some sleep. & a chance to call Dr. Hottie & his advice nurse, who suggested to keep on with the Mylicon before each bottle & see how that helps. If he still has screaming fits today, then we'll chat about switching formula & coming in to chat about reflux. This sounded like a solid plan to me.

My good friend Meredith dropped by with Quiznos & a smile, offering both sustenance & sanity. Have I ever mentioned how kick-ass my friends are? It felt so good to just sit & hash it all out & then she literally pushed me into the shower before she left. Holy hell, it's so nice to take a warm shower without worrying how he's handling the bouncer.

So, Momma is showered and now, courtesy of the Moby wrap...

BEHOLD. THE CHILD SLEEPS.

Also, please notice the exercise ball in the background -- I gave it a soldier's try last night & nearly ripped my stitches, so I think that trick will have to wait until Nate gets home.

Do I feel more competent today? No, not really. But I know that I survived yesterday...& if I survived yesterday & last night, then surely I can handle today. & tomorrow. & the next day. & maybe that's the essence of motherhood? Survival, one day at a time?

Today was the first day I cried.

Okay, wee lie. I sobbed my eyes out when my mother left on Friday, which is ridiculous considering she only lives 25 minutes away.

But today, I cried for the first time from being overwhelmed with Harrison's...I don't know what the word is. Not behavior, because he's only 11 days old. Actions? No, because it's not intentional. But you understand what I mean. My brain is jello & cannot think of the correct word needed. So I sat down on the couch, put my head on Nate's shoulder, & let the tears fall.

For the first week home, Harrison had a good little "routine" down that he set himself -- he was up in the morning around 9am, down for a nap around noon, up around 3ish to eat, then back down until about 6ish. Then bed around 10pm. Obviously, I am aware that at this age, the word "routine" is basic bullshit & things can change at a moment's notice. But the past two days, he has only napped about 2 hours max in the afternoon. & then he screams. & screams. & screams. My child has screamed pretty consistently since 4pm today. Which is better than the 3pm beginning of yesterday. & when I say scream, I mean the bloody-murder scream where he's near-hysterical. He is still doing well in the night ::knock on wood:: so I remain thankful for that.

I've seen Happiest Baby on the Block. He seriously scoffs at them. I had him tightly swaddled, on his side, shhh-ing, paci in mouth, gentle shake & the child kept screaming for an hour through all 5 S's until I literally thought I would pass out from "shhh-ing." I even re-watched the video to make sure I was doing it correctly.

I've never felt so helpless. I cannot make him stop crying. He is fed. He is diapered. He is warm. He has been "shh-ed" until he will probably turn to radio static thinking it's my voice. & the screaming...my God, the screaming. It makes every inch under my skin crawl to the point that I can't imagine this ever getting better. & I want to scratch my eyeballs out in frustration because this tiny human being relies on me for everything, & I obviously cannot give him what he needs. & then I feel like a failure. Which makes me sit on the couch & cry.

& I'm only two days into doing this on my own. I hate feeling this way because I desperately wanted to stay in the infant euphoria where every moment felt magical. & it feels awful to admit that at right now, I feel like I'm in way over my head. I didn't even want to post this, because admitting my shortcomings in my ability to comfort him makes me feel incredibly vulnerable to the world when I'm already feeling vulnerable to this 8-lb baby. I'm just so overwhelmed right now.

Sleep Training for Momma.

Training myself to sleep when he sleeps is not as easy as it sounds.

This, coming from the Former Collegiate Heavyweight Champion of Napping. But once he's asleep & I lay down, all I can think of are things that need to be done -- laundry, dishes, bottles, emails, blogging, ordering pictures, etc. I know. They can all wait. Yes, even the blog. But that urge to be "Super Mom" is a very, very powerful one & even as I type now, I'm telling myself to PUT AWAY THE DAMN COMPUTER & LAY DOWN. Because I'm tired. I won't even pretend that I'm not -- it's impossible to not be exhausted, even though The Momma spent an entire week with us to help out. I'm recovering from the athletic event that is labor, stitches to boot, & I'm getting up 3 times per night. I NEED TO TAKE AN EFFING NAP, RIGHT?!

What do you do to make yourself sleep during the day?