You know how much I like "com-blayn-ing," so I'll take you back to the dark day:
I've mentioned before that Ava is an early riser (of course she is--she's a baby). On THIS DAY, however, she woke up at 5:00, and STAYED UP. Unlike Ava, I didn't go to sleep at 6:30 p.m., I went to sleep closer to 11:30, (because Steven and I have been staying up to watch LOST) and needless to say--I was not ready for my "human alarm clock" to go off.
When Ava first wakes up, I go in her room, snatch her from her crib, carry her back to the bedroom, nurse her, and then lay her down next to me. Then, together, we catch a blissful 2 or 3 hours more of sleep.
When Ava wants to get up---she wants to get up... RIGHT NOW. Picture "Bam Bam" from the Flintstones. She reaches over to fish hook my mouth, pull out my hair, kick me in the bladder (always in the bladder) scratch my cheek, all the while making this highly irritating grunting sound. Annoying. So, once I finally roll over and admit defeat, we get up--and start the day.
BUT TODAY was ALL off. We got up two hours too early, which meant Ava was going to need a nap earlier than usual, which meant that she was going to need even extra help taking a nap. Just as you expected dear reader--around 9:30 a.m., after her baby meltdown, she finally fell asleep...
|Here she is in her German "Dirndl" her Grandma made for her.|
Hard to imagine how maniacal she can be sometimes, huh?
for 35 minutes.
Lord, please help me. Please help us.
At 10:00 a.m., she started crying--and then never stopped. Never stopped. It wasn't the kind of cry that babies do when they're hurt, or scared, or hungry. She cried her, "whiney" cry--the "I have a wet diaper" cry. It doesn't sound urgent, it just sounds bad.
I tried all the tricks up my sleeve, (and I'm a first time mom, so we're talking like 3 tricks here). She didn't want to play, she didn't want to be held, she didn't want to be put down. She didn't want to dance, she didn't want to crawl, she didn't want to go for a walk. She didn't want to take another (overdue) nap. She just didn't want anything. She had no fever. Her diapers were normal. I gave her some baby Tylenol, and some baby Orajel--just in case; nothing. If I stayed in her line of sight--the crying stayed at a "I-have-a-wet-diaper" level--but whenever I left the room, the crying increased to the blood curdling level.
Amidst all that, I kept trying, and failing, to get other things done. By the end of the day I was left with a whole list of half finished projects.
Then, it happened. The diaper explosion that will go down history, live in infamy, be written about in story books, and sang about in country songs. Ava hasn't been taking to solid foods well. She's borderline "tolerating" them. I'm not worried, (how many adults do you know who only drink milk? Obviously she's going to start eating eventually) but it makes feeding her a little less fun. Okay, a lot less fun. The day before, she ate a lot though. It was so great. I thought, "Maybe we're almost there!" I was not prepared for what that amount of solid food would do to her diaper....whoa.
I've told you we're using cloth diapers, and I am not ABOUT to get on a high horse about them here. I like them. I think I like them because they just "aren't that bad." They aren't difficult, and they get the job done. They save a boat load of cash. Cash that I can put towards Ava's college fund...or shoes. But they come with plenty of cons. One of those cons is absorbency, and leakage. If I stay on top of changing her, (and she's a heavy, heavy wetter, so I change her every 1 to 2 hours--MAX) it's not a problem at all. But on this dark day--the cloth diapers weren't ready for Ava. I wasn't ready.
The amount....the smell....and it...it just covered...everything. The spilling...the....I can't go on...
This went from a changing table level priority, to a bathtub priority.
I carefully laid her on the floor so I could prep the tub. And then, with ZERO notice, Ava lassoed super human baby momentum, and flung herself off of the bath mat, from her back to her stomach, to her back again. Bumping her head on the bathroom floor, (not the trip the ER kind, this time). She started her distress call, so I picked her up to help her...and that's when I noticed that I had completed neglected the diaper explosion damage done to her back. I looked down on the bathroom floor, and it was covered with Ava bunny "poop" outlines...and then I placed in her the tub...and I too, was covered in Ava poop.
I didn't even care. Who could care? Just add it to the pureed carrots I was covered in from failed dinner feeding attempt earlier.
I finished her bath. Took her out. And then I attempted to get myself undressed. I pulled the poop shirt over my head--like an idiot--and poop smeared all over my face. Then Ava started whine-crying again.
So I just laid down next to her. Shirtless. Poop covered. Feeling sorry myself, (classic). And I cried. Cried the way you cry at the end of Lifetime Original movies.
After the good cry, I felt a lot better. I realized I hadn't cried like that in long time. I guess because I'm too busy? Too tired? Chemically imbalanced? It's one of those.
Then of course Steven came home and Ava was magically "all better." smiling and giggling like a precious little baby angel bunny...ugh...go figure.
When it was time for bed, I was rocking her, and she fell asleep. I picked her up to put her down in her crib, and it was so nice to feel that "baby weight." Do you know what I'm talking about? The heft of completely, knocked out cold, down for the count, sleeping baby? Her little head resting on my shoulder. It's a feeling I hardly ever experience anymore since she became mobile. I stood there holding her for several minutes. I was thinking, she had been so awful. An hour before this moment, I was at the end of my rope. But it didn't matter even a little. I still love her so much. And I started to get a little "verklempt." I became sad, because in just a few minutes--she'll be too big carry. She wont need diapers. And she wont cry all day long.
But I tasted a little bit of what my mom went through, and what my mom must feel. Good feelings, and bad feelings, and exhausted feelings, and "end-of-your-rope" feelings. But ultimately love feelings.
So...I've got that going for me. Which is nice. :)