Tuesday, September 24, 2013

a little rest, a little booze, a little perspective

A week ago, I was starting to get comfortable. Almost resting on my laurels, as it were. I felt surprisingly healed from the c section, Weston slept and fed, slept and fed, slept and fed, with nearly no tantrum or cryfest to speak of. Jordan made sure she was throwing the rogue meltdown to keep us on our toes, but mainly she was being a sweet and thoroughly engaged older sister. Two kids. Boom, I got this.

About a week ago, Wes...woke up. He started crying more, in little sessions at first. Easily consoled though, and it didn't bother me too much. Babies cry, it's right there on the label. The last few days, well. If he's not sleeping (still doing quite a bit of that, praise be) or eating (pretty sure the kid would stay on the boob all day if I let him) he's having a total breakdown. That frantic, shrill newborn cry has been ringing throughout our probably extremely annoyed apartment complex. It takes a little time and some energetic bouncing, however I can usually talk him down off that ledge.

Oh but just you try and put me down, Mom, I dare you. You can inch at that rocker at the speed of sloth, but I smell your intent and I. won't. haveit. My sister needs a meal or a diaper change? You have to pee? You have 17 missed calls? Try me.

Sunday I was just, ah, I was so tired. Weekends are so important to my psyche because I have Sean's set of helping hands and because I require that we get out of the apartment. I need that change of scenery, I just do. But Sunday, I gave up on any sort of outing. After multiple meltdowns from both of my children, I decided to have one of my own. Or I guess my body and hormones decided. I sat on our unmade bed amidst dirty laundry and stale air and Weston and I just cried. A pathetic sight we made. When Sean finally coaxed Jordan into her bed and I had speed bounced/rocked/whateverittook Wes to sleep, I completely knocked out.

An hour and a half later, Sean crept in carrying a plastic bag. He had sneaked out to the store to buy "things he thought would make me happy." Apparently, those are Budweiser Lime-a-Ritas and Haagen Dazs milk chocolate ice cream bars. I slid out of the room without waking the spit-up breathing dragon and Sean and I had an in-home date of faux margaritas and two episodes of Ray Donovan before the taskmasters woke up.

Here's what I learned: my body completely responds to my state of mind. I started feeling sore and post-surgery-y again over the weekend because I was all stressed and frazzled. But I was so concerned about "wasting" the weekend by staying in; that time is too precious to me. However, sometimes "wasting" time is exactly what I need. I needed that sleep, I needed that [those] Lime-a-Rita[s] (they're actually pretty dang good), and I needed to waste that time with my husband in our shady living room watching some gritty Showtime.

I'm new to this, the two kids and the staying home and the trying to figure out what to do with my day. I mean, aside from making sure two little tummies and one not-so-very-little tummy are nourished, dressing three people, trying trying trying to pick up this place (failure thy name is Jessie Pope), and preventing tantrums if at all possible. And DANG, those things do take up a whole day, don't they? Yes, they can, but it's nice when I can get out to talk to people who know how to talk, too. That doesn't happen everyday though. So I'm adjusting. Jordan is actually a pretty hilarious conversationalist anyway - and she called me by my first name yesterday ("Hi Dassie") so I guess that means we're friends.

I have joined your legions, stay-at-homers (at least as of now), and I'm happy to be here. And while I know I have many more meltdowns in my artillery but I'm doing my best to wear my big girl pants and lead by example here. Survival tips, friends?


  1. I only have one munchkin so far, but Mary was born recently enough for me to remember the crazy ups and downs in the first few months. I've got this! How does anyone do this?! Ok, I've got this!! Cut yourself some slack, mama. It's supposed to feel like this :). As far as tips, all I've got are getting out of the house, even just for a walk around the block, accepting help when it's offered, and not waiting until the house is picked up to have people over to help me entertain my children / hold the baby so I can pee in peace. People generally want to help, you just need to tell them what you need. Wish we were neighbors so I could lend a hand!


    but it is all i can do for those first few months to limit the incessant crying, which makes my head feel like it will explode. i mostly use the stupid moby...

    it hope it gets easier soon!!!

  3. I don't think I've formally commented a congrats...so, congrats! I loved reading your birth story. And Weston is SUCH a great name!

    I love me some good red wine or nice bourbon, but I must say that those dang lime-o-ritas are amazing. Go have another one.

    1. Thanks Sarah! I love the name myself (obvi) and Sean thinks it sounds like a badass cowboy :)

      Wine, bourbon, lime-a-ritas, throw 'em at me. I'm still in the adjustment phase...alcohol is a friend here.

  4. Let everything go that you can, and cut yourself a lot of slack the first three months. Eat takeout, use paper plates, take any and all help that you can get. Around that time, you'll hit your stride and it really gets easier. For now, get out of the house when you can, the fresh air will be good for all of you! If you can, try to have a little one-on-one time with Jordan. I've found my oldest is (generally) more well-behaved when I spend a little time really focused on her, even if we're just coloring. Try to figure out what you need to feel like a normal person, and see if you can do it everyday (a stretch, I know), whether it's showering, exercise, Lime-a-ritas, painted nails, you get the drift. You'll get the hang of it soon!

  5. Jess you are my hero. I think you're doing amazingly. I have one kid and in awe of moms with more. And can I just say that Sean is so sweet.
    Lovin the photos.