On intense early moments of parenting

Your relationship with your kids begins immediately.  You start sharing vivid, intense moments with them from the get-go.  Some of those moments are vividly and intensely awesome.  Some of those moments are vividly and intensely… not awesome. 

I love gazing at my two-week old as his ancient eyes scan the edges of my face and occasionally for a brief moment lock in with my own.  I love watching the expressions on his face flicker and shift like clouds in a strong wind.  I love it when he smiles.  So far his smiles mostly come right as he’s falling asleep.  He even laughs in his sleep.  What is it that makes newborns laugh in their sleep? 

I think my baby smiled at me “for real” yesterday, for the first time.  That’s my story, at least.  I saw it.  I’m claiming it.  Anyway, those are intensely awesome moments.  Holding him as he sleeps peacefully.  I love those moments.

But there are also plenty of intense moments that do not feel awesome - moments that feel exhausting, terrifying, and even infuriating.  

Tonight I couldn’t get my two-week old son to fall asleep in my arms.  I was trying so hard.  I was bouncing, walking, rocking, shushing, singing, offering my finger for some “non-nutritive sucking”…  everything.  But, although he dozed momentarily a couple of times, and was peacefully swaying in his straight-jacket swaddle on my lap for a while, he wouldn’t stay asleep.  And it felt infuriating. 

Last night I had some similarly dark thoughts as I was trying to get him back asleep in the middle of the night.  It’s like, “Come on, dude.  You’ve just nursed for an hour.  You’ve burped.  You’re dry.  You’re safe.  You’re swaddled.  I’m bouncing you – alternating among different tempos and intensity levels depending on what seems to be working for you.  I’m patting your back while I bounce, trying to create an irresistibly hypnotic polyrhythm to induce you into deep sleep...  But my back is hurting from bouncing on this f-ing yoga ball and I’m starting to sweat and I’m getting annoyed and hot, and I am hating this.  Come on, kid.  Just go to sleep.  Now.  Please.” 

Most of the time I can get him down eventually.  But this afternoon I had to throw in the towel and accept failure.  I took him to his mom, to his Happy Place at her breast.  Of course I can't compete with soothing and sleep-inducing powers of Mama.  But I really love to get him down myself, to give her some space and all.  It feels heroic, in a small way.  And this afternoon I wasn’t able to.  Today I failed at that. Not a big deal failure, but a little one, which left me feeling a little rejected, ineffective, and annoyed.

This is the third baby boy of mine I've bounced to sleep (or failed to bounce to sleep).  When my first son was born nine years ago, I was blown away by how crazy and intense new parenthood was.  I'm still blown away by how challenging these early weeks feel, at how tired I am, at how ineffective I feel sometimes. 

But he smiled at me yesterday, for real, and that was awesome.  

And I'm in this, for real, forever.