| July 30, 2001 Wall Climbing |
 Everyone who sees him asks, "What is he, three months? Four?" |
One year ago (or thereabouts): I can't remember the day that crying was suddenly turned into a crime, but I can guess at what happened. |
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I think we've finally come through Sam's six-week growth spurt. For the past two nights we've returned to our regularly scheduled nights of one or two brief wakings. (Unfortunately, my breasts didn't get the memo, so I woke up in sheer, pounding agony. "Please, Sam, nurse!" I cried to my giggling, heartless, tightlipped son.) He's still lingering a bit in the cranky phase, though only in the evenings and late mornings when he forgets that my supply has caught up to him and he doesn't need to eat as frequently as he did a few days ago. It goes something like this: he whines frantically to get at my chest, but a few seconds after he latches on, he whimpers and pulls away - milk, apparently, was not what he wanted or needed. Most annoying is the fact that his reactions for a too-fast milk flow, a painful bubble, and a too-empty breast are all identical. I've had to be quite the Sherlock Holmes for the last few moody days.
Gee, did that sound bitter? It shouldn't have; knee-jerk reaction, I suppose. The visit wasn't nearly as awful as some of our other ones have been. I only got aggravated once or twice, when an overzealous grandparent tried to take the squalling baby from me for "comfort" as I stood there with my nipples dripping and Sam trying to mouth his way through my shirt in a panic. They got the picture quickly; I was somewhat less than subtle with my responses. Last night we tried taking Sam to a free band concert at the local zoo. All signs pointed toward it being a successful venture; Sam slept happily, for a change, in his carseat as we drove there, then was wide-eyed with interest as we pushed him in his stroller through the park to the amphitheater. Once there, though, we discovered that there was little space for four adults, a baby, a stroller, bags and blankets, and an end table that Rita had grabbed for a seat just in case we couldn't find blanket space near the benches. We ate our dinner quickly outside the amphitheater entrance, then I tried to feed a fussy Samuel (who wants to nurse when there are so many people around to examine?) while Eric attempted to find seating. We ended up on blankets outside the gate. We had to leave early, too, because Eric's new work schedule requires him to be in bed by ten. The grandparents are now back in West Virginia, though, and with the spurt ending, we'll all soon be back to normal. Yep, nothing like a quiet, normal, boring existence... |
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Whoops, how did that "boring" slip past? It's not quite what I meant to say, or even what I suppose I'm actually feeling. "Lonely" would be a better way to phrase it, I think. It hit me hardest just the other morning, when I finally managed to successfully put Sam into a front-carry position in the sling; I stood there, feeling so proud of myself, and I wanted to tell somebody, to show somebody...and there was nobody to tell or to show. All of my best friends are far away, and my family, of course, is equally far away. I ended up doing what I usually do: calling Eric at work. Sadly, I've been calling him at least three times a day, and I think he's starting to get a little irritated with me. Me, Sam, and the computer. Aren't we the social little trio? Karl Haas tries to muscle in on us in the mornings, but Sam doesn't care much for Karl's voice. I've tried to actually get out and about, but my efforts thus far have been pretty pathetic. Strolls around the neighborhood, even long ones that tired both of us completely, resulted in meeting only one friendly neighbor who, unfortunately, spends little time at home during the day. Car trips into town were less effective than I'd wished; the other librarians are busily working. (What did I expect?) Finally this morning I decided to take action. First I called the YMCA to ask about groups for new mothers; I was told to call the library (Ha!) or pick up a local paper. I'd thought of that, but remembered how little the local paper actually had on such things. Next I called a local church. They had a group and took my name and number for somebody to call me with details; I also got a pretty hard sell for their church body and weren't in the least dissuaded when I informed them that I already had a home church which simply had no mother's group. Finally I called the wife of one of Eric's coworkers (see how desperate I was getting?) who happened to have small children. She sympathized but had no advice. She said I could come visit them - just not this week... Counting flowers on the wall, Except it's Sam who's chirping at the walls. I've still got a few shreds of sanity left... |
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Amy asked whether I'd be doing anything special just for the purpose of having something about which to write - taking Sam to the park or the store, for example. I hadn't thought to, though it's not a bad idea. Still, if we leave the house, my primary motivation will probably be the weather. The heat is getting pretty terrible around these parts, and our air conditioner doesn't seem up to the challenge, I'm afraid. And, with that, let's hope I've got all weather-related discussion out of my system for a while. I'm sure that the editors of the book are hoping for more interesting writing material. Comments? |
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But, as I said, we're now beginning to see that the light at the end of the tunnel was not an oncoming train. Hey, had it not been for the fact that the in-laws were visiting this weekend, blowing my schedule all to Hades, we might have come out of it even earlier.
Tomorrow is the day I do the