Today, Punxsutawney Phil saw his shadow and I realized that parenting has gotten HARD.
Reading back on blog posts of long ago, I remember days where I couldn't eat, sleep, or pee because I couldn't put my baby down without waking him up. I remember finally sitting down to eat a hot meal only to inhale three bites before I had to finish one-handed with a newborn on my boob. I remember becoming obsessed with late night poker tournaments on TV and being able to sleep sitting straight up in bed and the feeling of a hot shower that lasted all of ninety wonderful seconds. I remember the cluster feedings where Mason would eat for five hours at a time and still be starving long after my nipples felt like they were going give up and run away to someone who'd appreciate them. I remember crying in the living room in the middle of the night because I hadn't slept more than an hour at a time in weeks and there was nothing I could do to calm this strange little creature down except stay up longer, holding him.
All that being said, I still think Mason's always been a pretty easy kid; the things I went through with newborn Mason are pretty typical as far as babies go. I hear stories of colic and reflux and hours of hysterical screaming and can't imagine having the strength and the patience to deal with it. While I was merely having the energy sucked out of me by Mason's five-hour nursing sessions, Aimee was losing half her nipple to Madelynn's latch. I've never lost a nipple. I've never even had to deal with my kid having an ear infection. Mason's an non-picky, awesome eater. He shares. He never really cried much and was always content and happy. Even his birth was routine and relatively easy as far as pushing a seven pound baby out of your vagina goes.
But now. Oh man. This is hard. It's hard even to admit it's hard. But it really, really is.
Maybe it all goes back to the lack of napping. Or maybe that's just what I'm blaming it on and I'm doing something majorly wrong. I have no idea. I wish I knew.
Mase and I went shopping with Aimee and Madelynn today. On the way out of Kid 2 Kid, Mason grabbed a bottle of finger paint of the shelf. I took it from him, put it back, and started walking towards the door. I told him to come with me and he just stood there, looking pouty, before he went for the paint again. I went back, picked him up, and carried him out. He was kicking and crying in my arms, so I put him down, thinking maybe he wanted to walk. Nope. The kid turned to Spaghetti Legs right there in the parking lot. He fell on the ground, wouldn't move, and cried. I stood there watching him, waiting for it to be over. He didn't stop. Meanwhile, I'm feeling like everyone and their mother is staring at me like I'm murdering my own child, so I picked him up again and carried him to the car. The second he caught a glimpse of his car seat, Spaghetti Legs turned into Stiff-as-a-Board Boy. I couldn't get him in the seat, let alone buckle the straps. I stood there, trying to ignore him while Mads stared in horror and Aimee laughed from the front seat, until my baby finally calmed down a little - at least enough for me to strap him in. Absurdity. Complete chaos.
So yeah. Parenting is hard and temper tantrums are awful. I would rather have lost a nipple.
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