I have one word for you – “exhausted”. Mallory feeds about every 3 hours, and it’s not a quick process. The whole thing includes a diaper change (sometimes 2, depending on her mood), a bottle, a pump and a wash for all of the paraphernalia that is required. Then, it’s a trip to the freezer to store my bounty and a trip to the kitchen because I’m always hungry. It all takes anywhere from an hour to an hour and a half. Do the math and you’ll realize that I get 1 ½ to 2 hours of sleep at a time. Of course, that is sprinkled with trips to the bassinet to make sure my baby is still breathing. I’m guessing that’s pretty normal with a newborn. . . and a first time mommy. Everyone says I should be sleeping when she sleeps. But if I do that, how do I get anything else done?
I guess I will have to admit that I’m having some “baby blues”. I don’t know if I would go so far as to call it postpartum depression. It probably has a lot to do with just being tired. And my days aren’t exactly a riot. Today, I looked at the clock, and it was 4:30. Where had the day gone?! All I could remember doing all day was feeding, pumping, changing diapers and washing the equipment (I think I ate at some point too). Crazy. I feel like crying for no apparent reason or for silly stuff, and my irritation level is very high (everything ticks me off). I prefer to spend the whole day in my room with my baby, hoping the world will just go away. Of course, it doesn’t and life must go on. I’m simply too tired to care.
How’s the nursing thing going? Hard to say. Sometimes she takes to it just fine. Other times she screeches like I’m ripping her toes off. When it does work for her, it takes 30-45 minutes, and she’s hungry again before I’m done with the follow up pump. Hopefully, it will get better as she gets bigger and stronger. Time will tell.
On top of trying to learn how to be a mommy to an infant, I find that I can’t even be a good mommy to one of my dogs. Poor Cole had been acting like something was attacking him. He kept looking up, then at his rear end, then up again. . . then, he would dart across the room with his tail between his legs like he was running away from something. We just thought he was turning psychotic. Well, I was letting them in from the backyard the other day, and he stopped to scratch at his neck. A big chunk of fur flew off of him. I picked it up, and it had a piece of scab attached to it (okay, I’ll try to be less gross from here out). Then, I inspected his neck (that sounds so simple. . . more accurately, I chased him around a bit and held him down while frantically yelling at him to be still). Apparently, the flea treatment I put on him last week was eating his skin. It was nasty (I would give more details but I already said that I would be less gross). So I have been “doctoring” that for a few days. It is looking much better, except he has a patch of missing hair that is bigger than a silver dollar. Now, the problem is keeping him from scratching it (which may have been what caused the problem in the first place). The good news is Mallory will never need a flea treatment so she should be safe.