The Baby is starting to look just like the Boy for the briefest of moments; in the bath when he doesn’t like the way the water is running down his face, he gives me the exact same black scowl, and when I call his name in the morning to wake him up, he gives me the exact same grin, just gummier.
While I’m keenly aware that he is only going to be a baby for as long as he is a baby (blink, and I’ll miss it!) and that I should, like everyone seems to want to remind me, “enjoy it while it lasts”, it hasn’t really been a bed of roses. I find myself going from burning with rage when he doesn’t want to nap, to becoming sick with worry when he throws up yet again after an introduction of a new solid food, to absolute bliss when he gurgles in delight just because I looked at him. It’s been… a ride, really. Up and down, and back up again; an exhausting roller coaster ride.
It was just a couple of days ago that I burst into tears while caring for him. He screamed when I gave him a bottle, after I thought he was screaming for that bottle. So I changed him instead, and he yelled some more, because I still haven’t gotten it right. So I rubbed his tiny tummy with menthol oil, thinking it might be gas that was hurting him, and he proceeded to throw porridge up all over himself and myself and the floor, his small mouth turning downwards as he wailed, with big fat tears rolling down his cheeks. So very unhappy, he was. I sat on the floor sobbing my heart out while holding on to a hysterical baby, covered in his vomit, and felt like I was the worst mother in the world. It can get incredibly lonely when you’re struggling with him like this, alone at home. You feel that no one would really know how difficult it gets, yet those who don’t see this and don’t help you with this would have lots to say about you as a mother when they visit once a week—you probably can imagine who.
You see, babies don’t really care how hard you are trying to meet their needs, or if you are already having a particularly shitty day. There is usually no more tenderness left in my cold, dead heart to summon at the end of the day when Baby is tired and demanding comfort. I draw on reserves that do not exist, and sometimes when he finally goes to bed, I feel thin and pinched and empty.
And I really love the Baby we made. But I don’t know why my own mother made three. I guess she just had more love to give.
茉莉花の独り言 