I just read this article about a dad dealing with having a disabled son with an extremely rare genetic disorder… And this sort of thing bothers me so much now. Or I should say effects me.
Any news article or story about a sick baby, hurting child, or suffering son cuts me right to the bone. A couple of times I’ve had to snatch Nathanael out of his comfy crib late at night and just hold him for a little while.
It’s important to be reminded that something as simple as having a healthy baby is a gift, a blessing.
There are times when I miss being able to just go somewhere without having to complete a checklist of baby items necessary to leave the house (diapers: check… formula: check… Sophie the Giraffe: check). Or being able to have a conversation without having to prevent a squirmy kid from grabbing things off the coffee table.
But I’m so grateful. So achingly grateful for his ten fingers and ten toes and his perfect little nose and two Chiclets teeth and slightly-crossed eyes and perfectly spherical head.
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It’s like the old Warner Bros. cartoons where Michigan J. Frog pretends to be dead and then starts dancing and singing when no one is looking, driving Porky Pig crazy. We have a heck of a time getting this kid to settle down, but whenever we have guests or my mom comes over to help, he’s a perfectly restful quiet baby. Which makes me think that we’re doing something wrong. Thea suggested today that perhaps we’re not being as loving and cuddly as Grandma, so I tried. In my most lovey-dovey voice I nuzzled Nathanael, cooing “Who’s a bad baby? You are! You are! Who’s driving Daddy crazy? My tiddly widdly pain in the butt!” To no avail.
But I guess our bodies adapt to little sleep. Here I am, fully functional with a measly three hours rest. Although… I have no recollection of the drive to or from church. How did I get home?
I have to get back into the preaching rotation in December, and I’m not looking forward to it. Usually I need time to ruminate and digest, and our new lifestyle of two-hour cycles, twenty-four hours a day isn’t going jive well with my system. But we adapt. I feel sorry for the poor souls who have to listen to me on a Sunday morning for the few weeks before the baby’s schedule starts to… I don’t know. Isn’t something supposed to happen where he actually sleeps for a reasonable chunk of time? Someday?
I can hear him grunting and complaining in the nursery. He started off feeding every three hours, but we’ve graduated to every two. I feel like our life should be a musical montage of us repeatedly feeding the baby, changing the baby, holding the baby, and holding each other and weeping when he won’t sleep.
The other night I climbed into bed very late, having stayed up to watch X-Men. Naturally. I’m taking advantage of my movie time while I still have it.
Thea was asleep and I put my hand on her belly and baby was moving all around. I tapped his bum (according to the doctor) and he moved over to the other side. So I tapped him there and he moved away again. It was like we were playing a little game. Or I was annoying the heck out of him. But a strange thought that baby is awake and doing… whatever he’s doing in there while Mommy is asleep.
I had a dream last night that I gave birth to a baby girl. In the dream I was more put out about the doctor’s absence in the hospital room than the fact I was a man giving birth. Anyway, she was a slippery little sucker and I dropped her. Probably inspired by the fact that someone I knew from university just became a dad. Although, I think his wife did the actual giving birth.