Things have been a little rough lately. The sleep debt is apparently cumulative, and my balance received unfortunate bolster from the boy’s recent three-times-a-night wake-up habit. And potentially exacerbated by a rumored-typical hormonal shift at around 6 months.
So I have not been able to perhaps accept with sanguinity the various events that have occurred.
Like me having a job and handing my boy off to his various caregivers so I can work. I don’t like that.
Like my milk supply seemingly depleting, possibly due to sleep debt, and various of MY caregivers strongly suggesting my supplementing with formula so I can get some sleep already, since I’m pretty much reduced to tears during his multiple, endless, middle of the night feedings, and me agreeing and buying the formula but crying about it all day, even though I know full well that there is nothing wrong with supplementing with formula at this point. (On the upside — tonight, I pumped over 3 ounces after the boy went to bed, which is for me, a record. And we actually have several 2 and 3 ounce bottles in the fridge at the moment, so Scott will be feeding him that while I try to sleep later. All the tears and drama. Probably buying the formula made my supply uptick.)
Yesterday we bought a jog stroller. A BOB. Jonah fussed in it on our maiden walk, but I didn’t think too much of it. Today, his babysitter took him down to the park in it, and walked the half-mile back home, uphill in the heat, carrying him in one arm, and pushing the stroller with the other hand because he hated being in it so much, cried, etc. “Me, Jonah, and the BOB, are not friends,” she reported. After all the effort, research, stress, we seem to have bought the wrong stroller. Go ahead. Laugh.
Jonah’s been using and loving the exersaucer, but I read the instructions today and discovered he’s too short for it.
The Gentian Violet seems to be working-ish. Which isn’t enough.
There’s other things: a baby shower I volunteered to help throw for a friend that has spiraled out of control with co-hosters sending angry emails and such in its wake. The pedicure I’ll never get again, the pants I’ll never get shortened, the checks I’ll never remember to mail. The yoga I’m not doing because my back is tweaked. The separation in my rectus abdominus muscles that could have been remedied if I’d done a certain kind of sit-up every day early on post-birth and I didn’t know about it until it was almost too late and I still didn’t do it and at six months post-partum, it’s too late.
On a more positive note, we’ve introduced yams, which Jonah likes just as much as liver. On the downside, freezing the cooked liver made it grainy. Need to start over with freezing the fresh liver, then cooking and pureeing when it’s time to feed him. Definitely a better texture that way.
We’ll probably solve the stroller issue with some padding and strap adjustments, or just wait till he’s bigger. I’ll get these jobs done. We’ll use the formula or not. I’ll be okay. I just need to get some sleep.
*Title is a play off this song I really like that goes:
If heaven and hell decide/that they both are satisfied/illuminate the “no”s on their vacancy signs/if there’s no one beside you when your soul embarks/I will follow you into the dark.
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