Well my mama turned 2 months today. That’s 8 whole weeks! She’s put on some weight and she’s getting heavy. I’m still breastfeeding and I’m proud of myself for making it this far.
Funny thing happened this evening. I was getting my daughter’s bath ready and her father was helping. He took off her diaper and was about to hand her to me and she crapped on his hand and the rest made a huge plop on the floor. There was none on her butt, it somehow slipped through the cracks of his fingers and made a perfect splat on the floor. I lost it. It was so funny! Luckily, we were in the bathroom.
My sweet daughter has given her father the blues. She exploded all over him; that was messy. It was in places we didn’t realize until after the fact. Mustard colored poop was everywhere! We were able to laugh at it all. It just seems she waits until she’s in his arms to explode and spit up all over him.
Anyway she’s giving me these huge smiles and she wakes up very talkative in the morning. Kicking her feet, swinging her arms, cooing and squealing while laying in between her father and I. Life could be better, but for the most part, with moments like those, life is great.
My sweet, innocent baby. I’m so worried about you. I’m so worried to the point that I’m second-guess what’s wrong. Is it, whooping-cough, croup, or something else? As I hold you in my arms and your body begins to rock and shake because of how hard you’re coughing, it’s so hard to hold back the tears. While I hear your loud shrieks and the screams that come when you’re coughing, I keep hoping that it doesn’t get worse. I keep hoping that this is just a cold.
This cold and flu season hasn’t been kind to children and that makes me twice as worried. I’m here with you, sweetheart. I just want you to get better. Your mom never experienced a sick newborn before so I’m a bit high-strung. Especially since last night. Last night you wouldn’t fall asleep any other way unless it was in my arms. The coughing was violent, you’d gasp for air and then shriek. The coughing and screaming was so loud, I thought you’d wake up your father. By the time you fell into a comfortable slumber in my arms, the sun was rising. All that time, I spent worrying about your sleep that I neglected mine. We’re both sick, but I can manage.
Please be okay, little one. I love you.
My three-year-old son came back from being with his relatives up in Cleveland with the ick. Now, Maya and I are sick. Maya sounds like she has something rattling in her face every time she breathes. It’s nerve-wrecking hearing her sound like that. It breaks my heart.
I didn’t get an apology from the father, he knew he was bringing him back with a cold. If walls could talk…
I’m so worried about my little mama because she’s having a hard time breast-feeding; she can barely breathe out of her nose. She hates when I have to get the bulb and suck all the snot and boogers out and I hate that I have to do it.
She had a fever and it finally broke. I just hope it doesn’t get any worse. I’d hate to have to take her in this frigid cold to the hospital. With no car and limited bus travel (bus only run on weekdays every 3 or so hours and stops at 5 pm) that would be a nightmare.
All I can do is cuddle her and get us through this together. My cold is gradually getting worse but I can deal with it. I just hope Maya can, too.
My postpartum depression was nothing like this with my son. I would say it was worse; I ended up in the psych ward. As far as the severity of the depression goes it’s different. I’m not even sure if I should call what I’m feeling right now as depression. I’ve been happy and feeling good about myself for weeks and now it’s like a dark cloud is looming over me and I feel like shit. I hate life right now. My son will be home tomorrow from being with his grandparents for the holidays. I miss him. Other than that, I don’t understand what’s wrong with me. I’m not tired, frustrated, mad, sad, or even in pain. I know I’m sick and tired of the bleeding from my nether regions though. I though breastfeeding was supposed to help with that? I guess not.
As I sit here trying to figure out why I’m suddenly wishing I could just curl up and cry my pain away, I’m also wondering how long is this going to last. It’s like the feel good emotions was a figment of my imagination; it’s all a blur. I want it come back. I need it to.