So. Tired.

"I'm soooo tired!"  I hadn't really noticed how often people throw those words around, though I know I've said them many, many times in my life.

And then I had a baby.

And then I understood what tired was.

For a lot of Jack's infancy, I was more tired than I had ever been in my life.  Before Jack, when someone told me they were tired, I might have been able to give a supportive "aww, that's too bad." But once Jack came along, I was more inclined to punch them  (unless, that is, they also had small children). I'm sure it was mostly the sleep deprivation talking, but I wanted to tell people I actually didn't care how tired they were, and that unless they were being awoken every two hours all night, every night, they didn't really know what tired was.

The thing is, you can't really understand what that kind of sleep deprivation feels like until you experience it.  Once some of the newborn fog lifted (ok, actually I think it was around the time Jack was 7 months old) I came to the realization that sleep deprivation doesn't feel like tired -- it feels like crazy.  I can say that I completely understand why it would be used as a method of torture.

I know all these things.  I know how awful it is to feel like no matter how much sleep you need, you just aren't going to get it because you're a mom and there is a tiny person who needs you.  So after we talked about Ruby's sleep the other day, I hung up and then felt like I hadn't been a very good mom friend for telling you she was doing great with sleep.  I mean, she is doing great for how old she is -- she sleeps in her own bed, only wakes up once or twice, and already sleeps some longer stretches -- those things really are great.  But when you were telling me how early she was up, and how tired you were, you probably didn't need me to say she was doing great.

You probably needed me to tell you I understand.  I know how you feel.  I've had many a morning where I cried because Jack woke up too early, and all I could see was how the day had suddenly gotten a hour longer, and how I would have that much less energy to make it through.

I just wish I had thought to tell you all those things at the time.  So I hope hearing them now is better than never.

The Fourth Trimester

When Jack was about 8 weeks old, I remember calling my mom, worried that I had broken my baby.  He had decided, very definitely, that being in someone's arms (or attached to me in some way) was the only thing that would do.  He would not be put down -- at least not for long.  I figured that, by letting him call the shots, I had ruined him, and would have to wear or carry him forever.

When I called, my mom happened to be with a friend of hers (a child psychologist at that) who told me I shouldn't worry.  That I should think of the first three or four months of Jack's life as the fourth trimester of pregnancy.  Even though he was no longer inside me, Jack was far from being a developed person, and giving him whatever he wanted was totally fine and would not come close to ruining him.

I felt better.  And it turns out, she was right.

Then just today, I saw this and I remembered all those feelings again.  So I thought I would send it to you, in case you were having any of the same feelings.