Hit by a Pitch

Although I’ve had the best of intentions regarding updating this blog since Soren was born, as usual I’ve been doing a crappy job of it. I don’t know if it’s hormones or what, but I feel like, since having a baby, my attention deficit disorder has attention deficit disorder. It’s like I’ll be doing one thing and then I’ll think of five other things I need/want to do and then I’ll forget what I’m doing while I’m still actually doing it. If it’s something that takes thought (finishing my birth story, responding to email, reading a book), it’s just not happening.

Aside from my inability to accomplish anything, things are good right now. Eight weeks is a pretty awesome age. Soren is smiling and (I think) cooing — he makes this noise that sounds kind of like he’s trying to say “Hi” — he opens his mouth all the way and makes a great effort and then does this “Ha!” thing. The smiles are awesome. Like B said about a week ago, Soren looks and seems much more human than he did at first. Every week he gets cuter and more alert and interactive and, as a result, it gets more and more fun to hang out with him. I mean, I still don’t really know what to do with a newborn most of the time. I’ve been reading to him quite a bit — we read Sports Illustrated together. He knows all about Notre Dame’s new coach (even though I explained that we don’t care about Notre Dame and have no idea why they get so much media coverage) and the effect of Tiger’s absence on the PGA tour (although I didn’t discuss why Tiger will be absent from the PGA tour — there’s time for learning about the sex lives of athletes when he’s much, much older). He’s also still really into music.

I’m doing well, too. I don’t think I was depressed during the first few weeks, but I had a lot of crying/feeling totally overwhelmed freakouts. I can’t remember the last time I had one of those. So that’s good. And there was a lot of shit going on during the first few weeks — we had a plumbing tragedy (no toilet for days and no water for a night and the next day and a $17,000 repair estimate [ended up being much, much less]), and then my soul-mate cat of 18 years, Kierkegaard (yes, the baby is named after her) died. But then I started going back to the gym at 3w5d postpartum. I get a shower every day (I don’t understand how people always say they don’t have time to shower after having a baby; unless you’re a single parent or the other parent is out of town and/or works very, very long hours, you can take a shower). I’m even in a good groove with pumping, if you can believe that (writing my “expert” guide to exclusive pumping is on my neglected to-do list).

Don’t get me wrong — in some ways, I’m still overwhelmed. I still don’t get out much and I’m still afraid that I/we will never have anything near a normal social life again. We’re still poor. I go back to work in just over three weeks and I have no idea how we’re going to afford daycare, for which we’re still on a waiting list. I’m still bummed that we don’t have family in the state. But you know, this is all stuff that’ll be figured out somehow.

Oh, and I turned 39 on Monday. Holy shit! I’m sure you’re shocked, because based on my youthful good looks and lack of maturity, you all assumed I’m much younger than that. (Ha.) My goal for my new age and the new year is to get much better at that “living in the moment” shit. That’s a very hard thing to do when you have ADD — you’re always in 10 other places when you’re doing something (like, you’re feeding the baby but also wondering if so-and-so replied to your Facebook comment, thinking about your best friend from high school and whatever happened to him, trying to remember what time the Nuggets play tonight, reminding yourself to check your shitty fantasy football lineup for this week, wondering if you should spend money you don’t have for a shirt to wear to the beer fest next month that will make you look less like Beth from Dog the Bounty Hunter and more like someone with boobs that aren’t about to take over the universe, being annoyed by cat fur on the couch, and being irritated by the parking ticket you got for having expired plates because you didn’t renew them because you just had a baby and it’s hard to get out and you keep forgetting to do the shit you’re supposed to do, etc.). I don’t want to go back on ADD medication (I’ve been off of it for, what, almost two years now?), so I have to figure out another way to try to be more focused and, I don’t know, grounded. Like a normal person. Meditation would probably work, although I really, really hate meditation. The fact that I hate it so much probably means that it’s exactly what I need.

So anyway, enough about me and enough of another boring-ass blog post. I hope all is well with all of you, and that 2010 is an awesome year for us all!

So guess what? There are some really good things about being a parent. Really! I shit you not! (I know I talk a lot of shit and don’t always focus on the positive things. I’m sure that says something about me, something I should probably figure out before my kid is old enough to get screwed up because of my issues or else we’ll end up on Intervention one day and I’ll be crying in an ugly hotel room with loud carpet while Jeff VanVonderen [I love that guy!] refers to me as “someone who loves you a whole lot” and Soren, who is wearing skinny pants and a wallet with a chain attached to a belt loop, says “I hate you all!” and storms out of the room only to be chased by his heavy-eyelinered girlfriend who secretly wants him to stay addicted to meth because it’s the only reason he’s still with her dumb ass.)

First, and this is mushy and obnoxious and will make you hate me unless you have kid(s) of your own — but holy shit, it’s really mindblowing to have this little person that you, like, made. (Okay, gross. Also, I’m sure it would be just as mindblowing to have this little person that you adopted, in a different but equally awesome way. I’ve thought a lot about adoption and might do it one day if we want to have another kid, just because I think it’s really awesome.)

This might be weird, but it’s kind of cool to have someone who is totally dependent on you. I mean, it’s overwhelming and terrifying, but it’s also kind of awesome. I know that, for example, if B or I don’t do something for Soren, chances are it’s not going to get done. That’s a huge responsibility — more responsibility than I’ve ever had in my life. It scares me but it’s also an opportunity — it’s a chance for me to be a better person than I’ve ever been. I pretty much have to get over being lazy (at least when he’s awake and/or I’m not washing diapers or pumping [I'm still sticking with that and it's been less horrendous lately]) and I can’t snooze all morning. My natural state is to be as lazy as possible as often as possible — that has been a pleasant state of affairs for me for most of my life, I’ll admit, but it’s probably good for me to snap out of that at some point. I don’t want to be a lazy ass forever.

It’s cool to have someone else I put first. I’ll be honest here, and this will make you realize that I am kind of an asshole. I’ve really never put anybody else before myself. (Shit, is that how only children are? There’s a very good chance that Soren will be an only child.) Now I put someone before myself — but doing that is a lot different from what I expected it to be. Like, I thought parents put their children first because they have to, out of a sense of obligation. Like, that’s just what you do. But I’ve realized it’s not like that. I put Soren first because it’s what I want to do. I’ll admit that sometimes I get overwhelmed — sometimes he starts crying and I know I have to change his diaper and feed him and I’d really rather sit on my ass watching the Nuggets game and I don’t want to get off the couch, but then I realize that I really want him to be taken care of and comfortable. I want him to be clean and fed and snuggly and content, not because it’s my job to do that for him but because I really just want him to be clean and fed and snuggly and content.

I like having a newborn more than I thought I would. I’ve never, ever been a baby person. I was never interested in babies and never even liked them (which probably makes it weird that I wanted to have one, but who knows how to explain thirtysomething women and their hormones). I’m looking forward to when he’s a little older and he can do cool stuff, but now is kind of nice, too. It’s nice to be able to give a baby everything he wants (which is pretty simple — food, milk, attention, a comfortable place to spend most of the day sleeping, maybe a little Chromeo on occasion) without worrying about spoiling him.

So yeah, this baby thing isn’t so bad. Even if it makes me write annoying posts like this.

As I’ve probably mentioned before, I don’t know any local parents of young children. So sometimes when I want to interact with other people dealing with the same shit I’m dealing with, I turn to message boards. I might have to stop.

First, there are the message boards where everybody is batshit crazy. I’m not trying to judge anyone (I’ve mentioned that), but I just don’t want to “hang out,” even online, with the non-vaccinating, breastfeeding-until-high-school, crunchier-than-thou tribe. I also don’t want to be near people who say things like “DH,” “DS,” and “DD” (to this day, I always think “DD” refers to someone’s boobs). Maybe I’m too picky (or maybe people are annoying). I’m not sure.

There’s one message board that drives me less crazy than most of the others, but even it has its shortcomings. Lately, there’s one thing I’ve noticed that drives me nuts, and I’m pretty sure it’s something that would happen were I to hang out with other moms in real life. People are fucking competitive about their spawn. Holy shit. People were talking about their babies’ first real (social) smiles. They were saying some crazy stuff — like, my baby had his first social smile when he was still an embryo! In the womb! Okay, I exaggerate a bit. But still, I don’t believe that anybody’s kid was smiling for real at like three weeks old. It was gas or an accident. Oh, and stop bragging, okay?

I’m not the most competitive person in the world, but I can almost see myself falling into that shit. I don’t want to start telling people about how Soren has already started writing a modern-day version of Either/Or, wherein he discusses the existential dilemma using easy-to-understand examples such as fantasy football and scandals involving auto accidents and the late-night wielding of golf clubs. Or how he spent the past few days in Keystone, snowboarding with Norwegian gold medalists. That shit is private, you know, and I don’t want to make other people feel bad because most five-week-olds are sitting around like lumps of unrisen pizza dough except when they’re crying or pooping.

Well, I hope this is my final word on breastfeeding.

If you haven’t been playing along, you can catch up on my hellish breastfeeding experience here. Because S can’t latch, I’ve been exclusively pumping and giving him breast milk in bottles. He seems to be doing great — he’s even chubbed up a bit (he was v. skinny at first and now he has a belly, squishable cheeks, and an extra chin). My original goal was to continue exclusively pumping for six months.

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Well, I haven’t been doing a good job of updating this blog. I still haven’t even finished my birth story and my kid is three and a half weeks old already. Honestly, I’ve been a little overwhelmed by my awful breastfeeding experience. I’m sick of thinking about it, but figure I should write about it. Maybe this will be helpful or comforting to someone else who goes through the same thing.

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