Today was not a zen day. Truman and I just weren't getting along so well.
Truman has discovered his inner fuss. He's just not a happy camper unless he's eating. And he's not a happy camper 30 seconds after he starts eating. He cries. He wails. He screeches in the most plaintive kind of way. It hurts me to my very core.
I always thought that colicky behavior (it may not be colic, but it's certainly colic-like) would completely floor me, tear me to bits, cause meltdowns of monstrous proportions.
But somehow I'm dealing with him, and bouncing, and walking, and only occasionally tearing my hair out. It's usually when Everett joins in for his own whine, when he decides the best course of action is to climb up on the arm of my chair and play with the DVDs while I'm sitting there typing at my computer and struggling to breastfeed a very sad sad, oh-so-sad Truman - that's when I lose it, just a bit, and my first few words could be classified as yelling.
I'd spent the whole day, tired and trying to get work done, bouncing and jouncing and taking advantage of 15 minute naps when they came. Changing poopy diapers to the tune of screams. Leaving Truman on the floor at his frog gym so I could get a trying-to-be-good Everett a hotdog with checkup. Alone.
And though I didn't get much done, when Jonathan called to say he'd be late, I mustered the energy to walk with the two of them to Trader Joe's, and though we had a meltdown over the orange that escaped under the pallet, we made it, we walked home and no one screamed at the top of his lungs and mama didn't fall to pieces. And I stayed up and blogged into the night.
Maybe I'm not such a bad mama, after all.
But I'm diagnosing. Is this colic? He hasn't been like this every day, and he sleeps well at night. He isn't sick, no fever, he's too young to be teething, I change his diaper regularly and there's not even a rash. He's getting lots of milk between the wailing. (As anyone can judge by the spurts of milk all over my shirt, my chair, Truman's face, my belly.) It's either pesky growth spurts, colic, or he just doesn't like it when I'm not 100% focused on his feeding. Do I have a colicky baby? Or just a bit of a fusser?
truman achingly awake