Whistling in the dark

I can’t remember how we handled the 3-hour life cycle of newborns. I remember getting down on our knees and practically weeping the first time the Kiddos slept more than four hours at a stretch, but I blank on the particulars of those first few months. I think the human brain blocks out the blinding and utterly incapacitating exhaustion that comes with being a new parent so the human race can continue.

Last night, however, gave me a little reminder of those first few months – namely how the brain will play amazing tricks on you at 2 a.m. when you wake up from a dead sleep to tend to a child.

Mommy intuition is an amazing thing. I can out-sense any baby monitor. Even years later, the slightest noise jolts me out of bed. I’m halfway to the Kiddos’ rooms before I realize I’m up. (Husband sleeps. Not a twitch, not a movement. An immobile slumbering rock. The Force is not strong with this one.)

My Spidey sense has come in very handy – I’ve prevented puke-covered sheets and headed off colds at the pass. However, it does have some drawbacks. Namely, The Boy tends to talk in his sleep. And laugh in his sleep. And SHOUT in his sleep. Just for kicks, I once started talking back when The Boy was yelling about everyone else getting a watch but him. We had a full-blown argument. Yeah, some of that will probably stick in his subconscious but the fun of arguing was a sleeping 5 year old about nonsense outweighed my concerns about permanent psychological damage. (Bells going off – maybe THIS is why he’s so obsessed with the time?)

Anyway, last night I awoke to a shriek at 2 a.m. The Boy, shouting for Girl #2 in what my keen senses characterized as a scared tone. Nightmare. OK, I can handle this. Let the rocking and back rubbing commence, I’ll be back to bed in 5.

I stumbled into The Boy’s room ready to soothe and comfort. (Yes, despite my general state of irritation, I’m surprisingly maternal. I can heal boo-boos with a kiss like nobody’s business.) Went over to The Boy’s bed and….nothing. Empty.

No problem, I thought. The Boy often has sleepovers, he’s probably in Girl #2’s room. I lurched across the hall into Girl #2’s room. Another empty bed.

At this point, my brain made the executive decision to stop working. Instead of piecing together the fact that it just heard The Boy yell with the fact that there hadn’t been any other noises in the house, the ol’ gray matter made the (at the time) wholly rational leap to the conclusion that The Boy may have been kidnapped.

I rushed back into our room, panicking. Kidnapped – KIDnapped! I must stress again that I had completely convinced myself that this had happened. Again, 2 a.m. is not the best time for rational thinking (as anyone who has left a bar after last call will tell you – ZING!).

Husband, who had been peacefully sleeping through my whole ratcheting up to crazy process, found himself being shaken awake as I babbled about kidnappers.

Husband: Um, Al, he’s fine. He’s here.

Me: NO HE’S NOT! Not in his bed, not in Girl #2’s room – maybe what I heard was him crying out for us to help him –

Husband: Al. Chill. He and Girl #2 decided to have a sleepover in her closet.

Me: Oh. Yeah. Um….’night, Husband.

Husband: (sighs)

Is it really any wonder that we feel zero burning desire to have more kids?

Girl #2 goes to the pediatrician (or, why my purse now weighs a good 15 pounds)

Big news, all.  I got my first google hit!  Well, hits.  The person searched the same terms over and over – about 12 times over the course of 5 minutes.  And, for whatever reason, this individual kept coming back to my little blog. 

Not that I’m not flattered, but I’m not quite sure that my blog specifically suited this person’s particular needs.  Especially given that their needs entailed “satin boxing robe, -pajamas, -lingerie.”  I’m guessing my karaoke post left this person somewhat … wanting.

Moving on.  It’s Labor Day!  A day when we Americans get to sit back and enjoy the fruits of our labors during the rest of the year with a well-earned day off.  I have so far spent my morning nursing the same cup of coffee that at this point has been nuked within an inch of its life.  Bliss.

Husband, who is much more ert than yours truly (yes, I know that ‘ert’ is not the opposite of ‘inert’ – but I love it and I’m sticking with it.  Imaginated words are our friendings) insisted on mowing our front lawn despite the intense rain last night.  As a result, our driveway now sports a layer of green fur.  Peachy.

But, as this is Labor Day and two of my college besties are due to have their first babies in a matter of days (woo!), it’s time for a baby story.   No, not a labor story you big silly, just a harmless baby story.

A bit of background – Girl #1 came into our lives after she passed the baby stage.  As a result, Girl #2 got to be our first baby – our starter kid, if you will.  Looking back, we were absolutely clueless. 

Day 4 of Girl #2’s time on this Earth showed us just how drastically we needed to change our thinking. 

First, a disclaimer – as most new parents are, we were running on no sleep at this point.  Like, hallucinating-real-fish-in-Girl #2’s-little-aquarium-crib-toy-no-sleep.  I blame the she-devil nurse at the hospital who broke the number one baby rule and had us wake up Girl #2 to feed her in the middle of her first night.  Extremely long story short, it took us an hour to fully wake Girl #2 up and five.  Goddamn.  Days. to get her to do more than catnap.

Day 4 brought our first pediatrician visit.  As we hadn’t left the house (or, very possibly, showered) for the preceding 48 hours since coming home from the hospital, we were ecstatic about a field trip.  We dressed Girl #2 in a snappy little outfit (watch her neck!!!), grabbed the log of feedings and diaper changes (nothing is more humbling than recording whether your child peed or poo’d at 4 a.m….. except potty training when you’re cleaning up child urine from the carpet for the fifth time in a 4 hour period) and traipsed gleefully out to the car.

We checked in and were shown to a cute little room covered in happily marching pastel animals.

Given that they are dealing with the least patient (Husband:  HA!  Get it?  Patient?  GET IT???) segment of the population, one might think that pediatricians would try to run their offices with a certain sense of urgency.  In this case, one would be wrong.  We waited at least ½ an hour each time we went to this guy.  Not so bad when you’re dealing with a baby.  Thankfully, we moved before we had to entertain a 1 year old in an 8x8 box for an indeterminate amount of time.

Suddenly, our noses started to twitch.  As cute as they are, babies can produce a remarkable amount of foul-smelling pure concentrated evil.  And they have the uncanny ability to do so at the worst possible time.  Such as at the pediatrician’s office.  When you’re new parents.  And, accordingly, forgot the diaper bag at home.  Yup, Husband and I waltzed out the door without giving a single thought to the fact that we needed to be prepared for every possible contingency.

Husband and I looked at each other.  We had nothing.  I mean, they didn’t tell us to bring a diaper bag, right?  They just said to bring the baby!

Our lack of sleep made our brain process as slow as if we had just summitted Everest.  We looked at Girl #2.  She looked back.  We rechecked her diaper.  The stank had not magically disappeared.  We looked again at each other, as little wavy stink lines started coming out of the diaper.

Now, I’m not saying that our ultimate solution was correct.  It did, however, solve the problem.  What we learned was that when you become a parent, you will do whatever is necessary to fill your child’s needs.  Even if that means searching every square inch of an examining room and stealing a diaper, then, um, digging through the trash to hide a dirty diaper at the bottom of the pail.

Now?  We are nothing if not prepared.  My purse could win any day on Let’s Make a Deal – snacks, crayons, safety pins, even spare sets of earrings.  No diapers – because, really, if our 6, 8, or 11 year old suddenly has an urgent unfulfilled need for a diaper, we’ve got bigger problems on our hands.

Happy Labor Day!