Kid Amnesiac

Simon just had a playmate born! This morning, at 7:29 a.m., our friends Lucy and Malcolm welcomed baby Colin into the world. Lucy had a pretty easy labor and delivery, which she thoroughly deserved having weathered a rough pregnancy with grace and humor. Better yet, Colin was due December 24. His early-but-full-term arrival means that Malcolm and Lucy will be able to settle in with Colin and enjoy having him home this Christmas. Matt and I are thrilled for the new family and can’t wait to invade their privacy.

I (Jessica) am also excited about having another new mom in the area–one I’m already friends with–to compare notes with and arrange play-dates with this winter.

Simon came home from the hospital six weeks ago today, but I’m still surprised to think of myself as someone’s mother. I’m sure that part of this is because I’ve spent the past 36+ years as Ivan’s daughter, Pearl’s granddaughter, Steve’s sister, Stewart’s niece, etc.

But another part of the shock comes from the primacy of that role. Most of us–the lucky ones, anyway–love our moms and dads more than almost anyone else and go to them for comfort when we are upset. They are our psychic shield. I can remember a day in college when I went to get dressed, grabbed a scarf that had been my mom’s, and felt close to her and reassured when I could smell her laundry detergent and perfume on it.

Now it seems I have a similar effect on Simon. I’ve never been a kid magnet. Kids like me OK, but I’m rarely the favorite. Except for Simon. I’m clearly his favorite (co-favorite in all fairness to Matt). When someone holds Simon in my presence, he nearly always follows my voice with his eyes. And when he’s upset, I have the best chance of calming him down.

This is all natural and obvious I’m sure. I hold him the most. I feed him. He heard my voice for weeks in utero. He’s mine. But after so many years of being on the junior end of family relationships, it’s a shock and wonder and be on the other side.

Well, it would appear that Simon has some colic. After six pretty easy days on the new feeding schedule, he had a very fussy Tuesday. “No big deal,” I thought, “all babies have fussy days.”

And sure enough, Wednesday was great. But then Wednesday night Simon ate just before midnight and did not go down afterwards. He slept at most for 15-20 minutes at a time from midnight until 6 a.m. By which point he was so strung out from not sleeping that he ate and slept poorly (if at all) for the rest of the day until Matt and I took him for long car ride during the afternoon.

My mom came over to help us at around 3:45, and Simon finally conked out for some decent sleep in his swing at 4:00 p.m. I had thought he was too young to use the swing still, so a huge credit goes to Bubbie for rescuing on us on that front.

I called the pediatrician in sleep deprived hysterics yesterday, and she phoned in a prescription for Zantac to help Simon with his reflux. I don’t think this will be the silver bullet that solves all our problems–Simon’s crying even as I type–but I think it will certainly help. And there are other medicines to try if we don’t get significant relief from this one.

But the thing that will no doubt help us the most will be time. By 12 weeks, most of this should be over. Simon will be 7 weeks on Monday. Breathe. We’ll be taking this one day at a time, living in a pretty dirty house, and enlisting all the help we can until things calm down. And I’m going to try to remember the next time we have an awful day together that not all days are awful and that we’ll have a good one again soon enough.

Needless to say, I expect to blog much more on the good days than the bad.