Nothing is more frustrating than trying to calm a crying baby. I wanted to sell Benjamin to a roving band of gypsies yesterday. Here's the set up: all was calm on the western front in the afternoon and Emily needed to get out and do some personal errands. I encouraged her to go and the baby should be fine since he was just fed. As soon as the garage door was closed...WAAHHHHHHH!!!
I pick him up to calm him down and he is not having it. I change his diaper, nope. I try the swing, nothing. I swaddle and rock him, unh-unh. He is crying at a decibel level unsafe to the human ear. I can feel the tightening of the vises on my temples. Now he is trying to eat his hands, obviously he is hungry and I can't do a thing about it - his food source is out and about and we aren't using bottles yet. We don't want to give him, wait for it - nipple confusion (clinical term).
The minutes are dragging by on the microwave clock. All I can do is hold and bounce him to try and give him some comfort. It is about now that I want to find those gypsies and take their first offer. I of course start to get defensive and daydream of Emily driving around with the windows down, sipping on an iced Starbuck's® treat, singing background for whatever is on her easy-listening station, intentionally taking the long way back home.
I hear the garage door open, the baby goes silent into a nap - perfect. Emily walks in and my face apparently spoke a thousand words. I needed to pass the baby off and not be around him for a bit. I wasn't going to hurt him, but I instantly could see how some of the horror stories you hear on the news about parents mistreating their babies could be possible. Not condoning it, but now I know that it isn't fiction when I hear about it.
On a lighter note, it snowed here in north Texas last night. We didn't get outside in it until the morning, but it is still technically his first snow day. Emily and I took turns pelting him with snowballs, he was a REAL easy target.
No comments:
Post a Comment