The Wall

If at the end of this post, you want to bitch slap me, I'd be ok with that. I just want to put that out there at the beginning. I understand that babies die and women die in childbirth and people who are born with no legs and no arms go on to become motivational speakers. I acknowledge that I'm not made of the same kind of mettle as these people. I'm grateful that my child and I made it through an emergency situation with all body parts as intact as they can be after major abdominal surgery. My baby is alive and getting better, even when he takes two steps forward and one step backwards.

Right now, I'm sitting on the couch wondering how I'm going to feed myself if KGII doesn't come home from work soon. I'm too tired to contemplate going to the fridge and actually preparing food for myself. It's not like I'm running extreme marathons in my spare time or, I don't know, going to work every day. No, none of that is going on. Here is what is going on:

I usually wake up twice a night to pump. Right around 1am and 4am. I'm told that I can carry on legitimate conversations at these times of which I'll have no recollection I don't wake up to martyr myself on the alter of breastfeeding. I wake up because my boobs make me. They're hard to ignore, even when I sleep on my side. I've also been waking up multiple times a night for the last seven months. Even extreme fatigue can't seem to shake that habit.

I get up for good around 5:30am and do the dishes or if I'm feeling really ambitious or particularly sad, I'll try and make Ben's 5am feeding at the hospital. I have to be home by 6:40am to wake Zac up and force his reluctant seven year-old ass to get ready to go to school. I literally kick him out the door to catch the bus by 7:20am. Sometimes I'll go to Ben's 8am feeding because he's been inadvertently admitted to Baby Boot Camp where they feed kids every 3 hours, regardless of preference, hunger, or consciousness. I try to find something to do outside the house until his 11am feeding. Then I run errands. Yesterday I tried to take a nap from 2-3:30pm, but I ended up having crazy hallucinations, except my eyes were closed and I wasn't asleep. Is there even a word for that? Twilight nightmares? Awake terrors? Someone should really come up with a word for that. Let's just blame our good friend Vicadin for that.

It's 7pm and I'm wondering if it's too early to go to bed, except Zac doesn't go to sleep until 8:30pm and I haven't eaten dinner. I'm apparently still anemic from the blood loss at Ben's birth, even though I take prenatal vitamins and iron supplements. I've lost 20lbs, but I still look like I'm 3-4 months pregnant and well-meaning people (Bless their heart!) keep asking me when the baby is due. Then I cry. Repeat 2-3 times a day.

This is what a wall feels like. I was wondering what parenting a new born would be like. I never expected that I would be parenting from the NICU. Now I know. It feels just like ramming your head, repeatedly, into a wall and waiting for someone to come pick you up and feed you. Day 11 -  you can suck my ass.