It’s 2:30 a.m. and Malcolm is wide awake, but he’s calm so I guess I’ll take it. I’ve given up trying to get him to sleep, and now we’re just hanging out. He’s cooing and waving his arms. He can bring his hands to his mouth occasionally now. He’s moving with more intention, although he still jerks his limbs around as if they are connected to marionette strings held by an inept puppeteer.
All this growth and development makes him ravenous. Sometimes in the middle of the night when he’s fussing to eat almost every hour, I feel like the owner of the monster plant in Little Shop of Horrors. “Feed me, Seymour!”
***
During a pediatrician visit, my husband asks if it’s normal for Malcolm to spend a solid 20-30 minutes grunting and working on passing a stool. Our doctor says as long as his poops are soft, that’s normal. She explains that newborns don’t yet know how to coordinate the action of pushing and releasing their bottom at the same time, hence the enormous effort. I find this hilarious. Other mammals are able to walk hours after birth. Human babies literally don’t know how to poop. No wonder early parenthood is so demanding.
***
Nights can be grueling. One night, I sabotage my own sleep shift by worrying and second-guessing my life choices (one of my favorite hobbies). Then it’s my turn to watch the baby, he won’t sleep on his own at all. Every time I put him down in the bassinet, he starts crying. By 7 a.m. I’m so demoralized that David wakes up to find me crying while holding the baby. He takes over and sends me back to bed for a few hours. Like most days, I have some coffee when I get up and things feel better. We take a walk. And then when David gets off work at the end of the day, I escape to take a very hot bath.
In desperation another night, I put him down in the bassinet awake, just to get a 10 minute break. I lay down too, thinking this calm moment will NOT last. Two hours later, I jolt awake out of a dead sleep. My first thought is, did the baby die? How has been this quiet for so long? When I look in the bassinet, he is sleeping peacefully. I can’t believe we both slept for two whole hours.
***
During my sleepless nights, I decide to re-watch the second season of “Fleabag.” I had forgotten how poignantly the show explores Fleabag’s grief for her dead mother. In fact, that’s what the whole show is really about. In one flashback scene, she tells her best friend that she loved her mother so much, and now she doesn’t know where to put that love. That’s how I feel sometimes. And sometimes I think that’s why I had my son — so I have somewhere to put it.
***
After days of misery — nonstop crying baby who won’t sleep — suddenly Malcolm becomes relatively calm. I don’t know why. It’s like seeing the sun come out after a hurricane. And then he finally smiles for real. It’s easy to look at a reflexive gas bubble smile and think, this it it! Even when you know it isn’t. But I swear to God he looked at me sideways today and stretched his mouth into a big grin, no GI issues involved.
***
I’ve spent most of my adult life struggling to stay in the present. I’m always worrying about the future, rehashing the past, tracking deadlines, feeling like I need to push myself to the next challenge. Now if I manage to get out for a walk with the baby, that’s a huge accomplishment. I thought I would hate that constriction. In reality, I’ve never been so in the moment. Malcolm lives in the present 100% of the time and it’s frankly a relief to join him here, right now. I spend hours staring at him with a goopy expression on my face — if he were a man I had a crush on, it would be downright embarrassing. I was changing his diaper for the hundredth time the other day and realized, I feel happy. Happier than I’ve felt since my mom died, in fact. I’m entirely caught off guard by it and I’m grateful.
Beautiful in all its messy glory….looking forward to meeting Malcom. ♥️