Success!

Just got back from my first outing with the Kraken. Alone! In a car! Someplace other than here! He slept the whole time (while his nerdy mother went to the library). I had planned on going to visit my friend today, but the phone guy came and, well, it's hard enough getting myself dressed before three in the afternoon let alone the baby.

Code Red, Level: Ballistic.

Clean diaper. Check. Fed. Check. Burped. Check. Pooped. Check (he pooped last night). I know they say they will sometimes cry for no reason, but damn. This is going on three times today that he's gone fucking nuts. He's currently in his crib crying his eyes out. And, yes, I want to run in there and pick him up, but it's what I've been doing and it's no longer working.

So, to distract myself, instead I'll ponder how this kid can eat so much and not be overflowing with poop. Every time he wakes up now (when I can get him to sleep, that is), he wakes up crying because he's so hungry. WTF? Look for the signs, they say. Crying is a late stage of hunger, they say. You're supposed to feed them before they start going ape shit. *blink, blink* Well, I would if he wasn't WAKING UP STARVING. It must be a growth spurt. The kid is definitely not being deprived of food.

Jesus Christ. I kind of wish I was at work. There'd still be a lot of crying going on, but at least I could tell those babies to shut the fuck up.

Holy shit. He just cried himself to sleep. Gee, that only took fifteen solid minutes of screaming and the use of my last nerve. How fabulous.

Another day in paradise.

Lunch today was a handful of trail mix and a some Wheatables--a feast! We're making progress, people, because I also took a shower, got dressed, brushed my teeth and called the phone company. Which, by the way, are a bunch of assholes. I had a guy scheduled to come out yesterday to install a phone line. I waited all day and the bastard never showed. Not that I was really going anywhere, but I could have taken little d on a walk at least one of the six times he was screaming.

So anyway, I called them this morning. The girl started to have an attitude with me because my cell was cutting out. Dealing with a fussy kid the last three weeks apparently has upped my patience reserve. I was surprised at how calmly I reacted to her snotty tone. Especially being up all night with little d. After explaining the sitch, she told me that YEP! they're not scheduled to come out until Wednesday! Wednesday? WEDNESDAY? My confirmation email said MONDAY, you hooker.

Since my reserve isn't THAT full, I opted to just hang up on her. I was planning on trying to visit a friend--my first trip alone with Damien--on Wednesday. Now I'll have to flake so I can sit around and wait for them to not show up again. I'M SO EXCITED.

I did, however, get to take little d on a walk today... for about 2.5 seconds. I had to turn around half way to my intended destination because it was so unbearably hot and humid. I was going to try and stick it out, but when I realized I didn't see anyone else being so stupid--no joggers, no walkers, no one--I high-tailed it back home, hoping I hadn't baked my poor child to a golden brown. He was okay, of course. I had dressed and shaded him appropriately. Seriously, though, can the gods not work with me, here? My purpose for the walk was to lull him to sleep, which it did, until the second we got back home. When I set him inside the house he was asleep. When I came back in from fetching the stroller, he was staring at me as if to say, "Nice try, toots."

Speak of the devil. The Kraken is awakening. Gotta go.

Something sinister is going on here.

Little d has been way too good today (other than the no pooping, which I guess can be good depending on how you look at it). I wonder what he's got in store for me tomorrow.

Oh, and, as promised, here's what life with little d is really like:

Usually, I think poop is funny.

Just not when my kid hasn't pooped since yesterday evening. I'm not panicked yet, but as Tim Gunn would say, "I'm concerned."

I don't know about you, but I'm tired.

Yeah, I know. I'm starting to go overboard with all the baby posts. This is supposed to be a place where I spit venom. Where I sling insults and hurl poop like a primate. Things will return to normal eventually, I promise. In the meantime, though, here's a sample of what tricked me into thinking parenthood would be a piece of cake:



Uh-huh. Check back soon to see what it's really like...

No more stinky baby... sort of.

I gave little d his first bath last night and it went well. I expected him to go ape shit since he absolutely hates having his diaper changed. I figured being dunked into a tub of water would send him into another dimension. Nope. He just sat there, kind of bewildered, as I washed him up. Which, by the way, it was about time. I waited three weeks because I was so terrified to give him a bath. Not sure why. I guess my visions of dropping his slippery little ass got the best of me.

The crying and bouts of gut wrenching gas (and that's just me, people!) still continue, but it's all worth it when they look at you with those big, unfocusing eyes. When their spit up-laden drool gets all over your shoulder and the soft cooing noise that threatens to turn into a major puke fest floats softly to your ear...

Ah, parenthood.

Boring girly post.

Clinique Bonus Time is like crack to me. I don't know what it is about getting "free" sample size products stuffed into a cosmetic bag that is so appealing. Is it because they're free? Because they're so small and cute? I'm not sure, but thank God Clinique Bonus Time and the Bath & Body Works Big Sale don't happen at the same time.

Actually, now that I think about it, it might just be the allure of free samples. Whenever Pantene has those deals where a free conditioner is shrink wrapped to a jumbo sized shampoo, I'm all over it. Of course, the conditioner is always three times smaller than the shampoo... their way of getting you to buy more conditioner, since it will most definitely run out before the shampoo. I know, I'm such a sucker. But it's FREE! You'd think I'd be immune to that sort of shit working in advertising, right?

WRONG.

Quick, he's sleeping!

I actually just had a nice visit with one of my coworkers that had a baby a week before me. Yes, I let her come over even though my house is trashed (I did pick up a little, though). She watched the baby while I took a shower. I felt kind of awkward, her being a coworker and all, but I took the chance she had given me. And the little shit slept peacefully the entire time she watched him.

At any rate, it was nice to have company. She let me in on a few tricks (The new baby is her third), which I tried after she left. She watched little d latch on (Yes, my coworker saw my boob. At this point, whatevs)and reassured me I WAS doing it right. And that even if you are doing it right, it can still hurt for a couple of weeks in the beginning.

The best part was that she totally understood where I was coming from about quitting breast feeding. She said if it's not working, it's not working. And that I shouldn't beat myself up about it. It's not like I didn't try.

This may sound selfish, but just that little bit of support, the fact that someone is thinking of me and not the baby, took such a load off. In fact, it's actually given me a second wind to keep trying to breast feed.

Not quite so funny now, is it?

About a week ago, my sister, the one with two kids, asked me if I had "crumpled to the floor in a fit of crying" yet. I laughed. Well, I'm not laughing today, my friends, because I just got done bawling.

I can't even describe to you the overwhelming guilt I feel. I feel guilty for not being able to sooth my own kid. I feel guilty for handing him off the minute my husband gets home from working all day. I feel guilty for not calling people back. For not letting them come over because I look like death warmed over and my baby smells like the welfare kid on the block (I'm too scared to give him a bath because I'm afraid he'll either a) scream bloody murder or b) I'll drop his slippery little ass). I feel guilty for wanting to let my crying baby just lay there and cry because I want just five fucking minutes to brush my teeth. But most of all, I feel guilty because I am seriously considering giving up breastfeeding all together.

It's still not going well. Now he pushes away from me--won't even take it. It's clear he prefers the bottle at this point. Which means I have to constantly pump. My supply is low because I'm not being vigilant about pumping every two hours, so I feel anxiety over that, which in turn tenses me up and reduces my ability to relax and let it... shall we say, flow. The reason why I'm not vigilant about pumping every two hours? Because I'm constantly dealing with a fussy baby. Either I'm trying to get him to sleep, eat or just plain stop crying. Before I know it, it's been two hours and there is no time to pump. It's a vicious cycle. I don't even have the time or energy to thank all the friends, and complete strangers for that matter, who have given me advice.

I have a blog I keep specifically so my family can keep up with what's happening in our lives. On that, my posts are all roses and puppies and lollipops. I don't want them to know I'm having such a difficult time. Because then I guess I would be admitting defeat. I don't want them to know how miserable I am, which, yeah, I feel guilty about that, too.

Well, I have to shove this pop tart in before the kid wakes up again. Later.

Like, yesterday.

If I got the cd with the hair dryer running on continuous loop I ordered right this very second, it still would be fast enough. My man loves the hair dryer.

Awesome.

I've been trying to get little d calmed down since around six this morning. Since eight this morning, the city has been doing work on the water main right in front of our house. You know, to make soothing him that much easier.

They're doing work right in front of our driveway, actually, so that makes it even better because, naturally, they're busting up concrete and shaking the whole house in the process. Since the end of our driveway was going to get torn up, Mr. D moved my car to the street this morning incase I needed to go anywhere while he was at work. I just had to go move it. Luckily, little d was "resting his eyes" for a bit so I could run out real quick. Now they just told me that they'll have to shut off the water for about two hours. This is turning out to be a GREAT first day without daddy's help.

There goes my shower. No laundry that desperately needs to be done. I can't even go to the bathroom. I suppose I could try and pick up the house. It looks like a baby exploded everywhere. I think the wiser thing to do is try and catch a few winks while Damien--I mean little d-- is asleep. Asleep that is until the next loud crash, bang, boom that comes from the street wakes him up. It's weird how he can sleep through an entire six hour visit at grandma's with his cousin screaming in his ear, but he only sleeps for 8.2 seconds at home.

SERIOUSLY. In the time it's taken me to write three paragraphs, my phone rang twice. WTF? Little d is on the verge of full blown meltdown, people.

Or is that me?

Hell spawn: What have I done?

No, I really don't think my child is the devil incarnate put on this earth to make my life a living hell. Not at all. And I swear I haven't considered renaming him Damien, even though we've lovingly nicknamed him Zuul (Yes, from Ghostbusters) because of the panting thing he's got going on.

In fact, I love six hours of nonstop "I'm not sure if I have gas, want to eat, need to have an ass-plosion or just want shred your nipples a bit more." All I can say is thank God for hair dryers and bouncy chairs that vibrate. Even they have they're limits, though.

No, really. I love my kid. Snuggling with him, listening to him whimper in his sleep, smelling his baby-ness and stroking his hair is like crack. But damn, am I tired.

No time left for you.

The you being me. Holy shitballs did I not realize just exactly how much time would be spent feeding, burping, changing, holding, rocking, feeding, burping, changing and then rocking this kid back to sleep. I mean, I did, but I didn't. I knew it wouldn't be a piece of cake, but crap, man. I've been in my pajamas for two days straight. Not even the cute nursing ones I bought, you know, so I could look STYLISH while I sleep. Yeah, right. With the amount of spit up flying around this joint, there's no chance I'm ruining the most expensive pair of pajamas I own. I'll just stay in my mismatched t-shirt and shorts for another two days, thank you very much.

So, I've spent all morning trying to get the kid to sleep. I find it totally ironic that when he's asleep, all I want is for him to be away. And when he's awake, all I want is for him to be asleep. Speak of the devil, he's waking up. Oh, and instead of pumping, what have I been doing? Posting on the Internets. I'M AN AWESOME MOM.

Mother fucking OUCH.

He finally arrived early Saturday morning. I'll share the intricacies later, but for now, without further ado, I introduce to you Mason (AKA Little D)...