A Sleep Snapshot
You smack your lips in dismay at hearing “You Are My Sunshine” for the 1000th time, ready to drift off. I’m there with you, bouncing mindlessly on the yoga ball, your body perched on my arm like a parrot. Your chest drapes across my shoulder. Your legs dangle from my swing of an arm, occasionally kicking to fight sleep.
I hook my arm underneath you with my other free forearm like those old fortune tellers in an arcade—one arm over the other. For whatever reason, you don’t like this position with your dad. Maybe it’s our body types, maybe his firmer grip, maybe just the angle. You sigh as you bob your head, eyes closed in search of the human pacifier. Slowly, you give up and rest your head in the nook between my shoulder and collarbone.
I sing softly into your fine sienna-colored hair as you find your hand to suck on. It’s been another long day. One 50-minute nap, followed by five under 30 minutes. Five poopy diapers, each with some blood. This has been our norm this week. We’re both tired.
The GI Visit
This week we saw a GI specialist at Children’s Hospital. Quite the trip: your first car ride outside of town since birth. What should’ve been 20 minutes took an hour with four stops, and you scream-cried the whole way.
You nursed when we got there, but the exam was rough—you wailed through that too. You finally knocked out while I talked to the doctors, only to wake up the moment I put you in the car seat again.
You cried so much you lost your voice, which broke my heart. The humidifier helped, and by the next day you sounded better. It’s clear being hunched in the car seat upsets your belly. You wriggle and writhe, but there’s no way around the restraint. We’ve been trying pacifiers, hoping you can self-soothe. You don’t love them yet, but maybe soon.
Help Me Help You
Exclusively breastfeeding means I have to take better care of myself too. The NP reminded me to eat more calories and see if it helps in a couple weeks. She also mentioned that restricting my diet any further of potential allergens could become dangerously limiting.
So Papá bought some veggies for me to sauté, and Grandma Joeaux gifted me a personal blender for my birthday. Small steps toward nourishment.
Bottling Hope
Since you won’t take a bottle yet, switching to hypoallergenic formula isn’t an option right now. People say babies won’t deliberately starve themselves, but after that 5-hour scare a few weeks ago—when I had to go to the ER and you refused to eat with Papá—we’re too nervous to try anything but little by little.
It’s clear you’ve outgrown your sucking reflex, because now you just chew the bottle instead. I read that breastfeeding and bottle feeding use different oral motor skills. You did take about 5 mL this week. We’ll keep at it, baby. We’ll get there.
Framed in Mind
My final thought this week is on photography. Your mommy loves photography, but hasn’t focused on it in a while. If I could duplicate myself, I’d be taking photos right now. In college I did a self-portrait series on my eating disorder at the time (I’m all better now but art was part of the healing). This would be my next big project if I could swing it. There are so many intimate moments with you in which we are both so vulnerable, both just trying to do our best to survive this big world.
Lastly your weeklies:
– You weigh 11 lb 10 oz. I’m nervous your weight is leaving off some with all your GI issues
– Favorites: your new crinkle shapes book and your under the sea animal decals, also your dangling monkey toy
– firsts: 4 hour daytime nap (after the stressful GI visit), car ride over 10 min, walk and diaper change in the park with Mom and Papá
– new dislikes: your other car seat, your wrap
– visits/outings: GI, park, drop off Papá at car shop
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