So Monday was Collin’s first 4th of July, and the first major life event that he didn’t completely sleep through. He only partially slept through this one.
We spent it at our friends J & V’s place, enjoying the company of adults without babies in tow, most of whom had been there and done that with their own older kids and thoroughly freaked me out with stories of their teenagers. I enjoyed myself immensely, though, and V, my fellow new mama comrade, and I enjoyed sips of wine and beer in between nursing. Later, she and I escaped outside to watch a few stray fireworks and talk until the sounds of a crying baby inside turned on our mommy alarms (it ended up being hers) and sent us charging back into the house. I find it funny that even though my husband is a great father, perfectly capable of holding a crying baby, I still rush to the rescue when I hear a little fussing. You’d think by now I would be saying, “Oh, the baby is fussing? 1-2-3 not it!!”
Lately, Collin’s been having a series of, what can only be described as, “Off days.” He woke me up early this morning with projectile vomit to the face (the face, people), and after faking me into believing he was feeling better after his little exorcist moment, he brought on the barf once more in the evening. I’m not a squeamish person, but right now, the smell of spit-up has moved in to my nostrils and set up shop, and I’m starting to feel a little nauseated, myself. I’m not sure what to make of all this new found puking glory, as it is accompanied by desperate clinginess, fussiness, and difficulty nursing (so rare for Collin) and falling asleep. I’m sure anyone who has dealt with a baby that suddenly has trouble eating and falling asleep can testify how insane it makes you feel. As I rocked Collin to sleep tonight, it took so long and I started to get so bored and desperate for a book in my hand that I started looking for the nearest piece of paper with print to help me pass the time. All I found was the manual for the baby thermometer. The clinginess is the worst, though, because on one hand I feel so bad for the poor little guy as he literally digs his fingers into me whenever I try to put him down, but try peeing with a baby in your arms. It gets messy and it isn’t very relaxing, we’ll just leave it at that. Maybe this is just a phase?