My Morning Thus Far

12:05 - 12:20 Photoshop my head exploding. Post it.

12:30ish - 5:28 Sleep fitfully.

Dream about being a ghost in a server room who haunts this annoying chick who comes in to make out with a married man. It’s kinda fun, actually. I throw my socks at her to scare her. (um, socks? Whatever, it’s a dream) She freaks out, and I yell “GET OUT” in my best ghost voice. Except, you know, I’m dreaming so my yelling doesn’t make any noise.

Fart a lot. (Bump made lamb chops for dinner)

5:32 Lumpyhead stirs. Give him a bottle.

We had been feeding Lumpyhead during the night for awhile, because he wouldn’t take a pacifier and feeding him would get him back to sleep. Some nights he would eat as much as 8 ounces. At the last pediatrician visit, our doctor told us he should be able to make it through the night without eating, even on an all-breastmilk diet, so we cut back the feedings.

Not that we were trying to follow her orders, but Lumpyhead happened to start taking a pacifier. Yes, we were relieved when he started taking a pacifier, because it meant it was easier to get him to sleep. At some point, you’re willing to hack off a fingertip if it means more sleep, so having to wean him off a pacifier some day? Not sufficient disincentive to stick the thing in his complaining craw.

When I say he wouldn’t take a pacifier, I mean he wouldn’t use it for its intended purpose. We would give it to him, he would suck on it for 5 seconds, then take it out of his mouth, play with it, make a popping noise with it, put it back in nipple-side out, chew on the plastic part . . . you get the idea. Now he sucks on it. So I’m totally buying one of these.

Anyway, because he can’t have anything to eat after 11:00 am today, we decided to feed him during the night, rather than just give him the pacifier.

5:35 Sneeze sneeze sneeze sneeze sneeze. WTF? Leave room to blow nose in the living room.

5:36 Return to bedroom. Note odor. Blame Bump.

Our usual exchange about blame goes like this (Either of us are Person A, although it's mostly him, of course. Um, yeah.)
Person A: It stinks in here like a dirty fart.
Person B: It is because you farted dirtily?
Person A: Well I farted, but I don’t think that has anything to do with it.

5:42 Bump farts. He looks sheepish. (Heh, get it? Lamb chops. Heh.)

5:43 Giggle, because I’m so posting this. Because farts are funny.

5:46 GOD it stinks in here

5:52 Get up. Have to blow nose anyway.

6:05 Think I hear the baby. Check on him. He’s sound asleep, as is Bump. Doesn’t smell as bad in there. For now.

6:54 Find this and change mind about buying any brand of fake teeth pacifier for Lumpyhead, ever. Did I ever tell you about the “oh my god, the nipple is going to break on this bottle and choke my baby” phobia that I have? No? Bah.

Speaking of crazy fears and dreams, on the night Lumpyhead was born, I had a terrible dream that I had to say goodbye to Bump and the baby. In my dream, I had already said goodbye to Bump, and was allowed to kiss the baby one last time before they took him away. I woke up crying, and cried for days whenever I thought about it.

What a horrible trick to play on a new mother. You suck, crazy brain. Physically, I was exhausted, in pain, and shocked by all the gore that follows childbirth. Emotionally, I was a wreck. I had all kinds of wacky hormones raging, paralyzing fears about my new status as a parent, and no doubt that I was gonna break this new little being.

Also, if you’ve ever even touched a psychology textbook, you’re probably not surprised that I have a teensy problem with separation anxiety. Yeah. Adoption + Bereavement = Nutjob. Bump is an hour late getting back from pool? The cops are coming to tell me there’s been a terrible accident. Gah.

I think I’ve dealt with my irrational fears pretty well (although I think I can hear Bump rolling his eyes - in his sleep - as I type that). I recognize that my fears are unfounded most of the time. I don’t flip out or make Bump call me to check in every half hour. The little ferret in my head just spins around in his wheel and drives me a little batty, that’s all. Hello, alcohol? I could use you as a crutch right now.

I recognized, when Lumpyhead first arrived, that what I was feeling was painful, but probably pretty normal. I didn’t have any fantasies about hurting myself or Lumpyhead; I wasn’t sobbing uncontrollably. I couldn’t bear to make the simplest of decisions - ohmigod, what kind of salad dressing do I want? It’s so hard - but I think that’s par for the course, too.

Yesterday morning, I realized that my terrible dream was coming true. I am going to say goodbye to Bump, and then kiss my baby before the nurses take him away. I nearly crawled back into bed and curled into a ball.

But I realized that in my dream, I was really saying goodbye. I was leaving them forever, and it was awful.

This afternoon, Bump will get on a plane and return in less than 48 hours. In the time he is away from us, he will be surrounded by his closest friends on the planet. What was slated to be a great time will probably not be so fantastic now; I’m sure Bump will worry a great deal the whole time he’s gone. But if anything were to take his mind off this afternoon, his friends and an activity he loves should be the thing to do it.

Lumpyhead will go to sleep and have a few snips of skin taken. I imagine his procedure will be less involved than my episiotomy. By late afternoon, he’ll be back in my arms, being smothered in kisses.

But until then,