“Tom, she won’t stop crying. I’ve fed her, I’ve burped her, I’ve changed her, I’ve sang to her, which seemed to make her even more infuriated. I don’t know what else to do! Did we get a broken baby? I thought girls were supposed to be dainty and quiet! I’m so exhausted, I feel like I’m never going to sleep ag-ai-ai-ai-ain.” And then I burst into hysterical tears and waited for Tom to calm me down, to tell me that everything was going to be okay.
“Um,” an unfamiliar voice said. “I think you have the wrong number.”
What? I glanced down at the phone display and saw that I had indeed dialed the wrong number. It was probably because everything was starting to blur together. I don’t do well when I don’t get adequate sleep. And now I had just poured my soul to a complete stranger.
“I’m sure your baby isn’t broken,” he said before hanging up.
I sniffled and stared at Natalie, who was screeching angrily beside me. I had just given birth a few days before and all she seemed to do was cry. Tom had to go into work and my Mom had come to help at least, but my nerves were still frazzled. My first baby, Tommy, hadn’t acted like this. He was a content baby. I assumed Natalie would be content as well.
Ha.
Everything seemed to piss her off.
An adorable bunny hat?
She hated it.
Really cute pink hat?
She hated it.
Comfortable carseat complete with visually pleasing hanging toys?
She hated it.
An adorable snowsuit from Old Navy?
She hated it.
Ultra adorable headband with matching dress?
Oh yeah. She HATED it.
She hated her crib, she hated her bouncer, she hated my breasts and was mad at the right one for many months so I constantly looked lopsided, and I swear she wasn’t fond of me either. She seemed to glare at me with this look that said, “I can’t believe my life is entrusted to someone like YOU.”
I could tell when a crying fit would start. She’d get a look on her face, this, “Hey, I’m pissed off and am going to let the entire house know it,” look.
And then she’d cry. And cry. AND CRY.
How I didn’t lose my mind is beyond me. I couldn’t even have caffeine! Caffeine translated to gross milk for Natalie and she refused to breastfeed if I had any. I swear she knew how to torture me early on. It was like she was keeping a mental checklist titled Ways To Torture This Person Called Mommy: Take away caffeine (check), take away her sleep (check), constantly cry to make her head ache (check), spit up all over the place (check), wail hysterically the second she steps into the shower (check)....
Mercifully, right around the time when I was tempted to bundle Natalie and all her things up and return her to the hospital, she began to calm down.
Not all the way, mind you.
But enough so that I was able to get some sleep.
And then she turned one and everything was perfect.
I’m kidding.
She still carried on when she was pissed.
She still carries on to this day.
Natalie turned 4 on Saturday. And while she’s mellowed out a lot, she definitely knows what she likes and doesn’t like.
We’ve come a long way from those long crying jags.
I’ve got to say, she kept life interesting.
And still does.
Happy fourth birthday, Natalie.
Who still gives me looks that say, “I can’t believe my life is entrusted to someone like YOU.”
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