Hey ladies with babies! Ever find yourself in a similar position?
That arm belongs to me, your trusty blogger, and that is my kitchen and you can't see it but I am stirring an overflowing pot of - well, that blue and yellow box should be spell it out for you. Dinner of preschool champions! Also dinner of kids who have an overly fussy baby sister who cannot will not be put down. Aaaand, there she is! That little bald head peeking out of the Moby wrap! And people, if it weren't for the Moby wrap this week, the big kids would be eating whatever they could scrounge off the kitchen floor. (Which actually, now that I'm thinking about it, would probably make for a filling meal, if not a nutritious one.) SUCH IS LIFE WITH A FUSSY BABY.
We thought it might be reflux. Then we thought it might be gas. A reaction to dairy? We have thought ALL SORTS of things and after a string of good to fairly awesome days, I was feeling pretty proud of myself. I mean, I gave up cheese. I DESERVE TO FEEL PROUD. Then today happened and OH MAN. Here I am, soaked in baby barf and leaning against a bag of frozen peas because I had that child in the wrap aaaall afternoon and my back hurts. And the I'm-an-old-person-now back pain, that's just the Cherry of Indignity on my Baby Barf Sundae.
I can't figure this kid out. One day she's an Angry Spitter, baby puke everywhere, fussbudget, "I'll wait till you whisk the diaper away and THEN I'll pee over EVERYTHING!" kind of baby. Then the next day she's a smiley, sweetie, snugglebunny who doesn't mind being wrapped into a baby burrito, accepts a pacifier jammed into her mouth and gazes adoringly as you plop her in the crib, hoping this Drowsy But Awake stuff actually works. And then it does! Those days are AWESOME!
Silly me, expecting consistency from a seven-week-old.
People keep asking me if "three is hard" and I have to say, I learned how to make mac 'n cheese with a baby in a wrap long before the third one came around. You know? For me it feels like the learning curve was WAY steeper when we added the second kid. The third one is actually my fussiest baby so far. The other two had their moments, but Emma is heaps more vocal than they ever were (and smellier and barfier). But still - I already know how to take two kids to Target. One more isn't a big deal.
I'm tired, though. I figured out how to feed the baby while half asleep in bed with Number Two, and while it's easier, I'm still UP. The laundry moutain has doubled in size thanks to all the spit up. I HATE carrying that baby car seat around again. I'm flailing away in the kitchen half an hour before my husband gets home, not sure if we'll have Actual Dinner or Toast that evening. It all depends on if I need to hold the baby. Or if the baby needs to eat. Or if the baby is happy sitting in her bouncy chair while her older siblings get up in her face and manhandle her tiny little baby head. YOU know what I'm talking about, ladies with babies! Where is our spa weekend?!
Anyhow, I salute you, Makers Of Baby Carriers! Thank you for making sure my older children get to eat! And guess who's fussing again... and I SWEAR I'm not making that up because I can't figure out how to end this blog post. SHE IS FUSSING. Let's all bet on how many seconds it will be before my husband utters my favorite phrase, "I think she's hungry..."