We hit Week Eleven yesterday. I would have posted then except I was busy dangling cliffside by bleeding fingernails with a baby screaming in my ear like a jet engine. Oh my word, this past week has not been easy. Yesterday, Matilda crapped with such force that the contents of her diaper shot down the length of her pants. The hot, wet gooey mass was restrained by the gathering at the ankle of her pants and kept there just long enough for me to carry her at arms length to her changing table. Happily, my mother was here to strip her while I ran Matilda's second bath in under 24 hours. (When the poo is on the onsie and the onsie comes off over your head, that's an automatic bath for you.)
I tell you this not to ruin your lunch plans or embarrass Matilda in years to come, but to give you some perspective on the week we just had. The massive pants crapping was a high point. THAT WAS A GOOD TIME.
Other than that, we've had much wailing and hand-wringing and wondering aloud about what to do. Matilda has clearly not been feeling at the top of her game, but for the love of little green army men, she's taken the whole household down with her. I think I can safely say her behavior this week could be classified as "outrageous colic with plugged nose and possible early-onset PMS." Yesterday she refused naps and demanded to nurse or be bounced on the yoga ball. All day. At 8:30 she finally fell asleep lying next to me on the couch. She remained that way until 10:30 when she burst into piercing screams as if she was in the middle of a nightmare and needed to wake herself up. She'll 11 weeks old. I'M THE ONE WHO SHOULD BE HAVING NIGHTMARES.
It's too early today to say for sure, but the hours between 11pm last night and 6am this morning can be broken down thus:
11pm: The entire family is put to bed. Matilda nurses briefly and passes out like a frat-boy just back from Spring Break.
5am: I wake up moments before Matilda at the urging of my very full milk machines. She wakes up, nurses.
6am: So pleased she slept till 5 and finding her still awake and in a good mood, I get up with the baby and bring her downstairs. Where she lies on my legs and smiles like she found a box of them on automatic markdown in Filene's Basement and even, I'm sure of it, GIGGLES, nearly.
She might be letting up her reign of terror. Then again, she has so far today refused all attempts to get her to nap anywhere but my arms. The left side of her face and my right lower arm are both slick with Sleep Sweat.
