Wednesday, April 2, 2008

Birth Control

Well, I've ingested my fair share of birth control lately.

I've just returned from a quick visit with our neighbors, who have a three week old daughter. (Well-timed...in regard that we are considering going for that life-changing "#2".) Here's what we talked about...breastfeeding problems...zero sleep...crying jags (both mother and child) for 40 minutes at a time...trips to the pediatrician because you're "just sure something is wrong"...humiliating trips home when it turns out there is nothing wrong...feeling completely inadequate...knowing you are completely inadequate, although you managed to run an adult life just fine a couple of weeks ago.

What the hell happened?!

Oh yeah. The baby came out.

Well, put 'im back in.

There has been more than one occasion when, in my rearview-mirror longing for an easier pre-child past, I've guiltily wished that we had a receipt for Ari. Granted, I get a little tired and testy at times myself, and his life would probably be easier at moments if I was not his mother. But then, can't we all say that about our moms, and our kids?

The word "easy" doesn't really come with parenthood. In fact, it is anti parenthood. There's nothing easy about it. Yes (sigh), everyone told us this before Ari came out...but you never know how crazy hard it's going to be until you're right there, at 3 am, completing your 80th messy and painful nursing of the day, running on 40 consecutive minutes of sleep and wondering when you're going to stop bleeding "down under" or when you can sit up on your own (if you've been cut open to get the kid out). My apologies (sarcasm heavily implied) if this is too graphic for the delicate men in the crowd.

It doesn't get too much easier as they grow, I'm finding. It's just that the hard things change. We've just completed our eleventy billionth grouchy period. You know...one of those 1-3 week lengths when every little thing is a battle and cause for major meltdown. These periods usually end in our house when I finally break down and have an evening-long cry jag myself, sobbing over and over that there's no way I'll have another child. Ari then wakes up the next morning in a completely normal and happy mood. This has happened on more than one occasion. So, go figure.

Please tell me we are not the only parents who experience this. On second thought, don't tell me anything at all. I'd rather just assume that every other toddler is like this.

For the past few weeks, it's been a battle of wills. I only just now figured it out. Lame momma. He's been pushing and pushing and wheedling to get his way, seeing how much power he can take...erupting like a clinging-to-my-leg Mt. Vesuvius when said way is not attained. This, in turn, causes a baffled mom to also erupt like Mt. Vesuvius. Except I do not cling. I just yell. Loudly. Once. And then I feel terrible. Usually, praying for grace and patience helps...but on some days...some of you know those days...nothing but a Rum&Coke will keep the explosion from rocking forth. And Rum&Coke's can only happen once dad's on duty...which leaves daylight hours raw and un-medicated.

I know my son is not Pure Evil. I know this because, during the GrouchFest, he has these beautiful moments of love and care (i.e. gently touching my face, petting the cat so sweetly, grinning up at me as if I were the sun itself, hugs upon request). He'll even, once in a while, exhibit some contrition when it's clear he's stepped over the line. With his hand upon my shoulder, he'll bend down to look up into my face, with a hopeful expression, as I clean up whatever mess he's experimentally/angrily thrown about...or...as I clean up the pee that has splashed all over as I chased him around with the fresh diaper he'd soulfully refused to don. I just wish he'd choose to use his powers for good more often.

And so...birth control.

Despite all of this...and despite common sense, self-preservation and duty to the world's increasing population, we are still considering that second child. Should we be so lucky.

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