The first two weeks of our return home is a blur. Two things stand out in my mind. the first is the feeling of utter exhaustion at all times and the second is the certain knowledge that nothing will be the same again. The rooms seem larger, the light coming from the windows brighter. The whole house seems to be humming with life and movement.
My whole world revolves around Marc. Twenty four hours is not nearly enough to take care of a small seven pound baby, let alone do other mundane things like cooking, cleaning,eating or sleeping. I never get enough sleep! No amount of reading and expert advice prepared me for this.
Am I doing the right thing? is a thought that is constantly on my mind. Every time I am confident that I have mastered one task, a new challenge appears and I am back to square one. it is difficult to feel confident when Marc is screaming, large teardrops streaming down his chubby cheeks and I have no clue what he wants. I still can’t correlate his sobs to his needs. I try to swallow down the panic rising in me, take a deep breath and decide to go by a process of elimination.
Is he hungry? No he doesn’t want to eat. He might need soothing, I hold him and pace the floor. That’s not working, I sit in rocking chair and sing a lullaby. The crying intensifies. I stop singing. I turn him around and my hand touches something wet. Hello! he needs a diaper change. Piece and quite at last. All that crying was for a dirty diaper. He is cleaned up and smelling nicely of baby powder. I put him in the crib for a nap. The crying starts……