Last night was my eighth sleepless one in as many days.* Not entirely sleepless, mind you, since Chris and I started sleeping in shifts. But definitely not the type of uninterrupted sleep enjoyed by those who do not play cafeteria to ravenous infants.
Don’t get me wrong. Maddi is adorable, sweet and a complete joy. As far as babies go, she’s a great one. She just has this habit of guzzling 4 or more ounces every 90 minutes (“normal” newborns supposedly take more like 2 ounces every few hours), confusing daytime with nighttime (her big feeding frenzy is between midnight and 5 a.m.) and refusing to sleep unless she is being held.
We have used abused her bouncy seat to transition her from sleeping in our arms to sleeping in her Pack ‘N’ Play bassinet, which we will then use to transition her from sleeping in our room to sleeping in her nursery. In fact, today — a mere eight days from her birth — we were forced to replace the batteries in that blessed, lifesaving wonder that is Maddi’s bouncy seat.
Despite having fewer hours of sleep in a week than I had each day of my first trimester (back in that halcyon era of staying awake for six or fewer hours at a time), and having completely neglected many aspects of personal grooming, I am still in a weird euphoric state that must be the opposite of postpartum depression. (Is there such a thing as postpartum mania?)
In addition to surviving on about five hours of broken sleep per 24-hour period, I have also managed to do a few loads of laundry (if you know me, you know this is not my usual M.O.) and pump several bottles in my downtime. I would even be posting a little more, if only I could get on the computer with more than one arm available (tonight’s post is courtesy of Nana, who kindly offered to stay over and help out with Maddi, and the last one was thanks to the bouncy seat).
Sometimes, when I have the opportunity to sleep — provided that she doesn’t wake up when I put her down — I hold Maddi and gaze at her sweet little face instead. And in the rare moments when I’m showering or drying my hair, there’s a weird phenomenon in which the shower or the blow drier sounds as if it’s got a background track of Maddi’s hunger cry (of course, when I turn off whatever appliance I’m using, it turns out to be nothing). It’s a good thing for me that babies can’t get restraining orders, because I think this qualifies as obsession. Can’t eat, can’t sleep … you get the picture.
It’s supposed to get better after the first few weeks, so we shall see. In the meantime, there are shifts to be slept in and pumping to be done (facilitating those much-needed naps).
Until such time as Maddi can go more than 30 consecutive minutes without eating, if I forget to do my Friday post — or if I take four days to write it as I did this week — it’s just because I’m trying to catch a wink. (And probably not getting it.)
Coming soon: Pictures of Maddi at one week.
*Yes, I realize she is now 10 days old rather than eight. It took me three days to catch 30 spare minutes to write this. Did I mention she is a good eater?