My Pre-Midlife Crisis

On The Edge

Before you read further, please know I love this little girl - I do. I don't wish her gone for anything in the world. But sometimes it is hard. This is one of those times. It's worth noting that this is not all sunshine and roses, fireworks, and pink flamingos.

Last night I came home from another day of "torrential rains and wind" at the office. My brother-in-law is in town, and has been here since Saturday. His presence is actually very nice - he's a calm person who doens't get bent out of shape easily, and he seems to like me (who wouldn't like that?).

Cookie had a pretty bad day at day care. They can't give her Tylenol Cold for babies without a doctor's letter, so they had to call Michael to come give it to her. By the time I got home, her eyes were puffy and she looked pasty white. Her linbs were cold, and she had some remnants of a green vegetable crusted in one eyebrow. Her nose was red and runny, and she looked sad and tired. She was whining and crying, and not her usual self. I tried to hold her, but the fussiness was overwhelming by 6:30.

I decided to do the evening meal and bathtime 1 hour earlier. I put her in her highchair and tried to feed her some sweet potatoes and turkey (one of her favorites). It was a struggle to get 1/2 of the jar into her before the crying started back up again. Then, I undressed a crying child and with her in one arm, I got the baby tub into the sink, filled it, and stuck her into it. By this time, the hubby had gotten up off the sofa from watching TV in the next room to come over and kiss my cheek and say "I love you." This would normally be nice, but it pissed me off. I need some help, not sentiment. Sorry, it sounds demanding, but honestly, that was not the time to be touchy-feely. Pitch in and get some work done, then I'll feel loved. But he and his brother were doing what they do best - sitting and watching Sports Center on ESPN and alternating flipping between other odd things that guys watch.

Cookie's contentment with the bath didn't last long, and I asked hubby to go get me a full-fized towel from upstairs as the baby-towels just aren't cutting it these days. He got her wrapped up and tried to sit on the sofa with naked baby in a towel, but she protested and he took her upstairs to dress her.

I sat in the rocking chair in the livingroom and he brought her back downstairs to me all clean. I fed her a bottle, and she seemed okay, but as soon as she was done eating, the crying resumed. We gave her more medicine - still no relief. Her nose was running so much and she would sneeze and vast amounts of snot would fly everywhere - yet she refused to let me wipe her nose, thrashing about like I was trying to strangle her. My BIL tried to hold her, hubby tried to hold her, but nothing really worked.

All this time, I have gotten out frames and pictures and her lifebook to try to get some work done on it in time for our monthly visit with the social worker at the end of the month. I wasn't feeling it, but it needed to get done, and when the heck was I suposed to do it? Working in the cramped and messy livingroom with 2 other people and a fussy baby was more than I could take, so I gave the baby to hubby and went into the kitchen to make a late dinner.

I cooked up lots of spagetti and meat sauce with fresh mushrooms and onion, and it smelled great. But by the time I finished cooking, my feet hurt so bad and I was exhausted. I took crying baby upstairs to lie down in the bed with her so maybe she would sleep. It did not work. I sang to her, I petted her head and back - but all she did was cry and try to climb over top of me to get out of bed. She flailed her arms and legs, smacking me for all she was worth. Tears and saliva and mucus were flying everywhere along with whatever formula I tried to get her to drink. It was an awful fight.

I had to pee, so I put her in her crib and raised the bar. I sat in the bathroom and heard her scream at the top of her lungs. I finished my business and continued to sit on the commode while she screamed. Hubby apparently didn't think to come upstairs to see if maybe something was wrong. I finally came out and scooped her up and held her, and she fell asleep in my arms - or so I thought. Upon placing her in bed, she resumed crying and thrashing. I wrapped her in a soft blanket, and waited and waited and waited and finally she cried herself out and put her head down and fell asleep. I didn't want to risk disturbing her by putting her in the crib, so I placed pillows all around her and on the floor beside the bed just in case she rolled off.

By the time I staggered downstairs, the food I had cooked was cold, but at least hubby and BIL had gotten a chance to eat. My patience was gone, but I pasted on a smile, got a plate, and ate amicably in the livingroom while the two guys watched TV. When I was finished, I reminded hubby that the new cleaning lady was coming tomorrow and he needed to pick up in order for her to be able to clean. He said he would to it "later on tonight". Fine. I went upstairs and crawled into bed with the now-sleeping baby. The time was - 11:30. At 1:30 or so, hubby finally comes upstairs to bed. By 2:30, baby woke up screaming and crying again. He attempts to feed her, but tries to do so while still lying down, and it only makes the baby more mad - so I take over. She screams and screams.

Finally, at 3am, I grab the Ora-Gel swabs. She hates them - loathes them. But I was desperate. Hubby snored through all of this. I struggled to even get her mouth open, and I feared I was hurting her. My head was pounding and I longed for peace. She kicked and flailed and arched her back so hard she was hurting me. Finally I was able to pry her mouth open and swab her mouth and she screamed harder than she does when she gets her shots. It was awful. Hubby, who had been sleeping 1 ft. away finally woke up and asked if I wanted him to take her downstairs. My reply, "I'm awake NOW!". That was the truth. I wake up every morning at 6:15. I leave every morning at 7:45. 9 times out of ten he is fast asleep in bed with the baby when I leave. Most often he never even acknowledges me in the mornings. That's just how it is. Sometimes I even feed and change her while he sleeps in, and I lay her back down in bed next to him. Must be nice.

So, I have swabbed the baby's mouth, hubby has rolled back over to go to sleep. I sat in the bed, stairing straight ahead and cradling a screaming baby in my arms. The screaming would subside, then return, subside, then return. She refuses a bottle. It is awful. I stared straight ahead into the darkness outside. I thought about getting in the car and going for a drive in the dark - alone. I wanted to be alone so badly. I wanted the crying to stop.

I thought about birth parents there in the dark - and how I understood how easy it would be for someone with less control, less education, and fewer resources - to...well, go over the edge. How quickly a birth parent must react and hit a baby, or shake a baby in frustration. How quickly it must happen. For a moment, a voice in my head told me to get away. I didn't fear hurting her, but I feared in general. I feared what this was doing to me. So, I stood up, scooped her up, and set her in her crib - still screaming. I placed her on her back and walked away. I ran into the bathroom, turned in a little light and the fan, and sat on the commode with my pants down - as if to use said commode. But I didn't have to go. I just sat there. And I cried. I sobbed and sobbed there in the dimlly-lit bathroom with only the shower light and the moonlight beaming through the window over the toilet. The fan could not drown out the screaming, but it helped blurr it into a fuzzy shrill screeching.

I said in a frantic whisper to God, "This child isn't even mine! Why must I have to endure this for someone else's child?"

Injustice is my weakness. When I am tired and weak, I smell injustices like a Bloodhound tracking a criminal.

I do not know how long I sat on the commode sobbing. I do know that everything hurt. I did not worry about the baby. I did not worry about the hubby. I worried about me. I felt myself cross over the edge a bit too much, and I was worried.

Finally, I heard only the hum of the bathroom fan. I got up and washed my hands and turned out the light and ventured back into the bedroom. Hubby was asleep on his back with a sleeping baby on top of him. I sat on the edge of the bed and tried to stop crying. Hubby asked if I was okay, and I refused to answer.

I know I fell asleep sometime because at 6:15 the alarm went off. I laid there for an hour before finally getting up to get dressed for work. I was half an hour late. I look pretty wiped out. I don't want to do anything. I just want some silence.

Some woman is supposed to come to the house today to clean. The problem is, I have no idea how she can clean well with so much crap all over the floors and counters - its just everywhere - our crap, baby crap. Its endless. I am hoping that hiring someone to clean will take away some of my stress. I wish there was some way I could do the same with work.

15 minutes 'til lunch break. I leave early to go to the dentist today (after a 2 hour meeting). Good Lord, all this and the dentist too. Maybe I could just have a root canal.

posted by No Longer In Crisis @ 7/25/2006 10:42:00 AM