Chris held Veronica yesterday for me, so I could take a shower. He was in bed, and holding little V while he watched Bloomberg news channel as he does every morning when he wakes up. I came back in a towel to hear him say to her: “Look at you making frowny faces. You are so serious! ‘We shall fight them on the beaches; we shall fight them in the crib…'”
Then he saw me. “What? all babies look like Winston Churchill”
We’ve been practicing referring to each other as mommy and daddy. It’s weird, but we’re getting used to it. It’s only been a week and..some days. My days are counted out in 3 hour sections; that’s how often I have to feed my child day or night. So, calendar days seem impossible to get my head around.
Everyone says that being a parent is amazing. Of course, saying something like that never prepared a person for it. Yes, it’s a lot of work. And yes, she is precious and adorable. And none of those sentences deserve to be written because they don’t get close to containing the meaning–the reality of it.
This weekend over-stressed me and therefore Veronica. My body is on some strange auto-pilot (lactatation being the most obvious symptom) and Veronica is just so new to the world that it doesn’t take much to throw either or both of us off. So, since Saturday night she has been experiencing intestinal distress.
Poor thing! I could hear her tummy gurgling, and I could definitely hear her screams. She could not calm down, she would not go to sleep. So the first night you think it’s just that one time. But it went on and I was ragged.
The responsibility of it hits me. I have to help her. She needs me. I have to be aware of all her needs even before she is. So her screams and lack of sleep for both of us took it’s toll.
In the end, I finally decided that I needed to do SOMETHING. Poking around on the internet I got an idea of what was wrong and hit upon a solution. I tried it and GLORY BE, she slept very well last night.
So did I. I hope it keeps up.