First Day of Baby Hell.
Sounds harsh, huh? That does not even cover it at all. Come to think of it, I don't think there are words that would even come near to explaining how utterly exhausting, frustrating, and maddening it is to have a baby in the house. Last night was the first of months, even years, of having to wake up every five minutes because our baby, Ada, is crying her little heart out, and I'm telling you, I don't think I'm gonna last.
How could something so small, so utterly helpless cause such complete destruction to my life? I just want to play DotA! I just want to get at least five minutes of sleep! If I was dealing with an adult, I would have easily screamed back at them to shut the f*ck up. But since I was dealing with a baby, I had to reign in my temper and, you wouldn't believe it, start cooing. Yes, I have become a master of the art of cooing. I can make sounds I would never let any other person above the age of five hear. I can pacify screaming babies with words that don't make sense. Yes, I have sunk that low.
My mom told me and my sister that we should not carry Ada or play with her everytime she cries, or else she'll get used to it. My sister seems okay with it. She can let the poor thing cry for minutes without even checking in on her. I, on the other hand, cannot. Even the smallest whimper from her is enough to make me spring out of my seat and go immediately to her crib. Can you imagine what her bawling does to my poor, unsuspecting heart?
I admit, this little lady has my heart in her cute, tiny hands. And it didn't even take an hour for me to realize that I love her so deeply and that is the root of my fear. That is why I would rather watch her than play DotA. That is why every small cry that escapes from her lips sends an alarm signal to my head. Is she hungry? Is her diaper wet (of course, I don't do the changing)? Are rats (God forbid) about to eat her? (I saw a GMA documentary about this. Now, I'm uber paranoid.)
Of course, I act tough. I scold her. I tell her to shut up, or else! She just looks at me with her small, slighlty slanted eyes and does that gurgling sound I find so endearing, and I soften up. I know that with her, I am looking at a future of sleepless nights and eyebags the size of well, real bags. I know that I will be driven to the point of wanting to tear my hair out, of wanting to just growl at her so that she gets scared enough to shut up (okay, I've done this but she didn't even seem fazed at all!). Still, every smile she gives me, the sight of her tiny feet, that baby smell she'll always have, it's enough for me to think that it may not be that bad after all, not hell, really. In fact, seeing this sweet, sweet mircale and being able to hold her in my hands, it's more like, a piece of heaven after all.
How could something so small, so utterly helpless cause such complete destruction to my life? I just want to play DotA! I just want to get at least five minutes of sleep! If I was dealing with an adult, I would have easily screamed back at them to shut the f*ck up. But since I was dealing with a baby, I had to reign in my temper and, you wouldn't believe it, start cooing. Yes, I have become a master of the art of cooing. I can make sounds I would never let any other person above the age of five hear. I can pacify screaming babies with words that don't make sense. Yes, I have sunk that low.
My mom told me and my sister that we should not carry Ada or play with her everytime she cries, or else she'll get used to it. My sister seems okay with it. She can let the poor thing cry for minutes without even checking in on her. I, on the other hand, cannot. Even the smallest whimper from her is enough to make me spring out of my seat and go immediately to her crib. Can you imagine what her bawling does to my poor, unsuspecting heart?
I admit, this little lady has my heart in her cute, tiny hands. And it didn't even take an hour for me to realize that I love her so deeply and that is the root of my fear. That is why I would rather watch her than play DotA. That is why every small cry that escapes from her lips sends an alarm signal to my head. Is she hungry? Is her diaper wet (of course, I don't do the changing)? Are rats (God forbid) about to eat her? (I saw a GMA documentary about this. Now, I'm uber paranoid.)
Of course, I act tough. I scold her. I tell her to shut up, or else! She just looks at me with her small, slighlty slanted eyes and does that gurgling sound I find so endearing, and I soften up. I know that with her, I am looking at a future of sleepless nights and eyebags the size of well, real bags. I know that I will be driven to the point of wanting to tear my hair out, of wanting to just growl at her so that she gets scared enough to shut up (okay, I've done this but she didn't even seem fazed at all!). Still, every smile she gives me, the sight of her tiny feet, that baby smell she'll always have, it's enough for me to think that it may not be that bad after all, not hell, really. In fact, seeing this sweet, sweet mircale and being able to hold her in my hands, it's more like, a piece of heaven after all.