Tuesday, March 15, 2011


Writing blog posts is getting frackin' hard. Not the "writing" part, but the "using a computer without the baby wanting to grab at the keys and eat the screen and chew the cord" part.

So what's happened lately?
  • Time inexplicably passed again. He's almost 10 months old.
  • He got his seventh tooth.
  • He's doing quite well eating small bits of "real" food. 
  • I went to take a quick potty break, and when I got back he had climbed eight stairs and scared me to death. More than once, he's climbed the entire flight while supervised. A cardboard obstacle was built to stop or slow him.  Or trip me.
  • He made friends with an almost-one-year-old at a baby shower on Saturday. There was a bit of cute monkey-see-monkey-do. 
  • On Sunday, I threw a dirty diaper in frustration. I may or may not have been aiming at my husband's head. He may or may not have forgiven me. There wasn't that much poop in it. 
  • Husband complained about baby food stuck in the carpet again, as if it is preventable. Wet Cheerios stick to everything and dry like glue. Just look at my shirt.

Mostly, I've been worrying a lot. When I first became a parent, the things to worry about were all obvious and expected, and I'd mentally prepared myself to handle them. But now, the things I worry about don't have solutions.

I don't know what I'm going to do when he outgrows his car seat. Sure, we have a different car seat ready for him, but it's not like his original. It doesn't slide into multiple bases in multiple cars. It's a big item that's meant to stay strapped into one car. Are we supposed to buy another one for our other car? And what about the grandparents' cars? And what about the fact that my car is the size of a toy and the idea of fitting a larger car seat in it (let alone taking it in and out repeatedly) is like a bad joke? We can't afford to trade my car in. My husband's car is older and will be the one that gets traded when the time comes.

Then there's nursing. I've obsessed over breastfeeding woes before, and it's getting worse. I used to provide at least eight ounces while at work. About four months in, that started getting difficult. Suddenly I was only able to provide six ounces while away from home. Now I'm LUCKY if I get a total of four ounces, because there is just no let down reflex. Even with this problem, though, I never had to worry about feeding him when I was home -- it was only the pump that my body stopped understanding.

But last night I couldn't get a let down with Fletcher, so now my worries are compounded. Eventually his tiredness won out over his hunger and he fell asleep. Then I went to bed with my failure, wondering what was happening to me, what I was supposed to do. I know he isn't starving, but... my baby went to bed hungry? What kind of mother am I? I'm so angry with my body, as it fails me time and again.

I'm not supposed to have a bad back at my age, yet it feels like someone has grabbed hold of each muscle and twisted. I've lost mobility in my neck, shoulders, arms. I've forced myself to learn how to accept the constant pain, even as new joint pain joins the party.

Is being able to feed my baby when he's hungry really too much to ask? I've done everything right. Why can't it do what it's supposed to do? For the first time, I really feel trapped by my body, because now it isn't just about me.

You know it's a sad state of affairs when you dream of winning the lottery so you can do things like see a health care professional and get a car with four doors.

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