Hi. My name is Amanda and I need medication. I’m seeing a new counselor on Monday and begging for the good stuff. What I’m starting to realize is that maybe, MAYBE baby G isn’t so much different from other babies and maybe I’m just a manic head case. I mean don’t get me wrong, he cries if you look at him sideways. And he still thinks that his crib is made of thorns and knives. And the thought of accepting food through a bottle and not a boob is unacceptable to G. And oh yeah HE HAS THRUSH. But besides that, he’s just a baby. And I literally am on edge 24/7
In other news, I quit my job on Friday. Talk about a conflicted decision. But show me a daycare that takes a baby who won’t sleep in a crib or take a bottle and I’ll show you my check for a billion baby dollars. But I just could not in good conscience send him to a daycare, knowing that he would have to cry it out in a crib and go on a starvation stand off. He’s just not there yet. I mean he’s not the type of baby that would cry and be all, ok I’m sick of this time to sleep. No, he’d puke and blow a blood vessel first. And my ultimate fear, he would think I’d abandoned him. And if it sounds like all of this is me convincing myself that I made the right decision, I would slap you and call you a brain reading demon.
See everything and I mean everything is causing anxiety for me. I’m having trouble going upstairs to take a nap while B chills with G for an hour. My brain races. We’re dealing with so many issues, it’s like what’s next? I’m on edge waiting for baby G to trot upstairs and tell me that he’s knocked up another baby girl or something. Don’t get me wrong, I know a lot of people have it way worse with real medical issues. But being Amanda means being in control of the earth and the world and everything in it and baby G doesn’t play that game. So when yesterday he slept in his carseat on the dryer in the dark at 12:34pm and then today when I put him in his carsear on the dryer in the dark at 12:34pm and he screams in my face, I lose it a little. Because 1+2 ALWAYS EQUALS A BABY NOT CRYING. Except it doesn’t. It equals like 666.
So here I am, jobless, broke ass, on 3 hours of sleep and darting my eyes around the room like a wild bat is going to attack me or something. We’re not sure how we’re going to make this SAHModg thing work and I don’t know how my brain is going to handle it, but I need to try. I owe it to baby G to not be a spaz head case.
Because a spaz head case would seriously consider seeing a psychic to ask how I get my baby to nap in his crib. Not that I thought about that or anything…