My Baby the Cry Baby

Last night was a rough night. Jedi (as he is affectionately known as on dee internets) has found his voice. As amazingly cute as this is, what with all the babbles and coo's and aiyuuuugeeee's, he cant shut up when its time for sleep. For those without fruit of loins, lemme splain something babies like to do. When they reach a new milestone like sitting up, being able to pull up, being able to dance, they wont stop doing it. At all. Even when the room is dark and everything is quiet, they are fed, dry and happy, they will perform whatever new trick they have acquired over and over and over, even if they are totally tired and making themselves miserable. I compare this to drunk people who have learned a new line dance. They will dance that dance wherever the fuck they are, talking to friends, at a gas station, they will even get out of the car at a drive thru del taco at 3 a.m. to perform this new found trick even if they are not very good at it, until someone drops them off at their house. Even then, they will be doing the 10 step right up until they reach their bed, thinking "I am so fucking cool I should be an instructor on this shit"(true story, don't ask how I know this) So Jedi's new trick is his voice. And he cant shut up about it. This is how last night went:

         Put baby in bed despite fact that he is babbling away, hoping he will get the hint that the room is dark and no one is talking to him. Jedi squawks his aiiyeegoooooo aiiiiiIIIIIIIIIIIIIIyy ooooooohhhh skills times 10. Ok this isn't working he is not even calm. I put him in bed with me. Stupid idea, now he thinks its time to play. After he kicks my crotch 5 times and drools all over my neck, attempts to "motor boat" my chest, and squeals like a piggie, I lay him to my side. Let the back pats begin. Pat. Pat. Pat. He soon realizes his voice makes a different sound when I'm patting him. Now he really wont shut up. I sit up and rock him until I feel sea sick. Pat. Pat. Pat. He stands on my legs. "AAAAIIIIOOOO" fuck. Ok back in the bed, I'm tired, he is too crazy for my life. I lay him down and he Aaaaaeeeegggggs until he cries. I pick him back up. Repeat chorus 4 times.

By the end of it, I am exhausted, he's crying and I'm crying. What is wrong with me and why is this kid pissing me off? I'm 27 so I should have a shit ton of energy still, Ive done this 4 times before, Ive been through alot of shitty things, Ive seen alot of shitty things, and this isn't something I ever thought I would cry over. A baby that's half crying half talking? Mostly making some cute ass baby sounds? Why is this reducing me to tears!?

  And that's when I realized why. Because right then, at that moment, I was being ungrateful. Let me splain. When I was pregnant with my Eldest, I went to a teen lamaze class. One of the exercises we did was to choose from a list all the things we wanted to happen on our babies birthday. As the exercise went we eventually had to narrow down the #1 goal. At the end all that was left was "Have a healthy baby" It was intended to put our precarious desires to the side and make us realize what was really important. Since I was having a fairly easy pregnancy and didn't even know anyone who didn't, or had a child that had problems from the get go, I thought it was a wee bit silly. I mean, why wouldn't my baby be healthy? Shes fine now, she will be fine then. Thankfully my naive ass wasn't trumped on the day of Eldest's birth, because she came out a healthy 9 lbs of thunder and to this day is very healthy.

      That's pretty much how every pregnancy was in fact. Zero problems, no hints that the baby was going to be wall eyed or derelict. I was fully confident that this whole having a baby thing just came easy to me, of course I learned along the way that it was not like this for most people, but it was like other people were just talking about a country they visited that I had never even heard of. It was just a story, that I couldn't imagine in my mind, because I had never even seen a brochure. It was just something that had never happened to me (having a not healthy baby or a trouble some pregnancy) and something I could never imagine happening to me.

     And then I got pregnant with Jedi. From the get go my imaginary list of outcomes I wanted from my pregnancy went like this:

• I want a boy. I already have 3 girls and 1 boy. I would like another boy because it would suck for my only son to have another sister, plus I'm sick of princess shit
• I want this baby to be really cute. To match his/her siblings. And with a good name that I haven't heard a thousand times.
• I want this baby to be smart. Because I am not so good at puzzles and math homework.
• I want this baby to love music as much as me and his/her dad. And possibly play 3 different instruments for our entertainment.
• I really hope I can find a cheap dresser to store all these awesome clothes. No baby of mine is going to look stupidly dressed.
• I hope I don't get really really fat.
• I hope he/she isn't a cry baby

And that was that. I didn't think my imaginary list would change whatsoever. Until I was 11 weeks pregnant. I started hemorrhaging for no apparent reason and I replaced one thing on my list.

• I hope I don't get really really fat. I hope I don't miscarry.

When I was 15 weeks I learned that I was having a boy. Although this was very exciting, I really didn't care any more. I wasn't even sure if I was going to be able to see this boy. Ever. I prayed to the cosmic juju Oprah preaches about that my wish wasn't granted in replacement of my "I hope I don't miscarry" wish.

By the time I was 21 weeks, things didn't look any better. And the list had changed some.

• 
  

  I want this baby to be really cute. To match his/her siblings. And with a good name that I haven't heard a thousand times. He can be ugly. As long as I get to see him.
• 
  

  I want this baby to be smart. Because I am not so good at puzzles and math homework. He can be special needs for all I care. I will take him to the special bus by the hand and tell him he is the most wonderful boy in the fucking world and love the shit out of him every single day of his life. If it means I get to know him.

By 24 weeks, I was told I was staying in the hospital until my baby came out. My due date was months away. Fancy doctors that have spent half their lives in doctor school came and told me all the things that could happen and measures that would be taken to save my sons life. They told me the real risks, shooted me some statistics and basically scared the shit and piss out of me. My list changed dramatically.

•  I want this baby to love music as much as me and his/her dad. And possibley play 3 different instruments for our entertainment. I really hope he is not deaf. But if he is so be it. I will be sign languaging like a mother fucker and so will everyone who enters my house. And I will sell a kidney to make sure he gets the best hearing aids known to man. I will picket Bill Gates house if I have to.
• I really hope I can find a cheap dresser to store all these awesome clothes. No baby of mine is going to look stupidly dressed I really hope I have use for a new dresser.
• I really hope he is not a cry baby I hope when he comes out, he is crying. Because that means he can breathe.

I had Jedi just a few days after I changed my list. Every single day, I wake up, and I marvel that he is even here. I mean, he has only been around for 6 months, and he has only been home for 3 of those months, so this is all very surreal remembering him on a tiny bed weighing no more than a baby kitty just a few months ago. And now seeing him develop rolls upon his rolls like a sherpa puppy is like whiplash really. And sometimes I get overly emotional about it, in fact I have sworn off any sappy movies in the past few months because I feel like my daily life is akin to a Hallmark commercial and any more sappyness would make me turn into a brunette Tammy Faye Bakker sobbing through a tune of "God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen" with snot running down my boobs.

So last night was fucking rough. I over analyzed (true to my female nature) how on Earth this beautiful, miraculous, gift from the cosmos could possibely be making me a little fucking unhappy. After replaying my whole pregnancy and his triumphant and successful attempt at life, I came to the realization that regardless of how awesomely grateful I am that he is here. He is still a baby. Babies suck sometimes. Lack of sleep sucks more than babies do and that can bring anyone down to a delirious sob episode.


What finally got him to sleep was my soft sob, and of course the death grip placed on his legs to keep him from kicking me in the crotch. All in all, it was a shit night for me. Except for the part where I got to hold my baby and thank him from the bottom of my heart, that he was here, even if he is a big fat cry baby. He is my cry baby. He can breathe. He hears me. He is alive. The list of awesome shit this kid can do goes on and on. But I have a theory my no cry baby wish got replaced with something else....





Enough cute to make your fillings tingle.