Kid Amnesiac

Matt’s done the lion’s share of blogging lately, as he has more time than I do. Which is funny, because the guy has been a full time pump assembler/cleaner, caterer, errand boy, diaper expert, burper, and entertainer for the last few days. In fact, if you list the number of daily tasks he accomplishes, it’s much higher than mine. So what’s the difference?

So far as I can tell, it’s that Matt can still move at a near pre-delivery rate whereas I know 100-year olds who now move faster than I do. (Slight exaggeration, but I saw my 97-year-old great uncle two weeks ago and he certainly is getting around faster than I am these days…) It now takes several minutes to sit down or get up from a seated position. Walking is slower than it used to be. Going to the bathroom is a 20-minute adventure. I’m supposed to be taking four 20-minute sitz baths a day, breastfeeding for 20-40 minutes a session (pumping for 15-20) every three hours, along with eating a lot (check!), drinking a lot (check!) and resting a lot (only if I can figure which of the eating, drinking, breastfeeding, going to the bathroom, etc. is optional).

But I digress. What I wanted to write about tonight is a little phenomenon which is either hormonal attachment doing its thing or the beginning of an opium addiction. I’ve noticed that when I feed Simon, it doesn’t take long before a general feeling of well being washes over me. I feel calm, warm, happy, and slightly sleepy. By the time a feeding session is over, Simon is in a milk coma, I’m super-relaxed, and both of us are having trouble keeping our eyes open.

Until tonight, I wasn’t entirely sure that this wasn’t really the doing of Oxycodone (trade name Percocet), a pain medication I’ve been taking since delivery. Frequently, I sit down to feed or pump, take my pills with a glass of water I’ve poured to drink during my session, and then get down to business. So when the wave of contentment rolled over me, it was hard to say if it was Simon or Oxycodone that was responsible.

Then Simon flipped out tonight. I had just finished feeding him when Matt went to diaper him, he got fussy, and no amount of burping, swaying, bouncing, cooing, begging, or shushing calmed him down. When Simon gets really worked up, he shrieks, turns bright red, and ends each shriek with a hiccup. So it’s gasp, shriek, hic; gasp, shriek, hic. When this happened two nights ago, I knew exactly how much milk had been poured down his gullet and I was able to remain philosophical. “He’s been fed, diapered, burped and cooed to; babies just cry…”

Tonight, however, after a full day of breastfeeding, I began to worry that I was starving him. And so my agitation progressed from mild to moderate to my being in tears watching him be so upset. Our little drama closed when Simon finally urped all over me, settled down, and went to sleep. Whew!

While I hope to hold it together better the next time, at least a question has been answered for me. I figure if the hormonal attachment to Simon is so great that I could be in tears and feel mild uterine contractions when he cries, than surely those same hormones are the ones blissing me out when all is going well.

I’ve gotta say, much as everyone told me it would be like this, I’m still amazed and alarmed to see how completely I am owned by this little 6 1/2 pound bundle of humanity after just under a week.