Friday, February 22, 2013

One.

One year ago, I was marvelling, yet again, at the miracle of life, cuddling my new baby boy, smelling his sweetness and enjoying the novelty of his red hair. I had the birth experience to beat all birth experiences, and I was on a high that nothing could drag me down from. I loved him with my whole heart and knew him from the moment he slid into my weakened arms. But his arrival ushered in one of the hardest periods of my life. Judd simply refused to do anything that baby books/modern science/old ladies/parents of ‘perfect’ babies/I expected him to. He would not sleep any longer than 20 minutes unless he was held, he would not suck on a dummy, he would not drink from a bottle, he would not fall asleep in the car or the pram, in fact all he would do in the car or the pram was scream. Life became a really awful game – one you would ‘win’ (ie, lessen the crying somehow) if you were able to work out how to get from A to B with a baby and two older children in under 10 minutes (10 minutes being the maximum amount of time you could handle the screaming without starting to scream yourself). Life was s&%t. It really was. I woke each morning willing the day away, I woke feeling sad and scared, despite the love I felt, despite the beauty I beheld every time I looked at my son. I just couldn’t work out how to take care of him to the degree he required it – swaddled to my chest, 24/7 – plus take care of two other kids who needed me so, so much, as well as, you know, eat, talk to other adults, wash myself. And I’ve never been good with a poker face. I couldn’t hide it, and I didn’t even try. Everyone who knew me knew I was miserable. Including my children, and that was the worst bit. We tried so many things to ‘fix’ Judd, but Judd was, and is, his own little person, with a definite agenda and a determined spirit. But slowly, the tension eased, bit by tiny bit, until, wow – life was happy again. I smiled – not just for fleeting moments, but for hours. The tension started to die the day I let myself off the hook, and accepted that I had a baby who was absolutely terrible at doing lots of baby things, but who was funny, delicious, and, when left to live as he wanted to, full of a palpable joy that touched everyone around him. Judd is cheeky. He is very physical, very busy, strong in body and mind. He loves to eat, as long as the food proffered is not baby food, and he loves to breastfeed. The ecstasy associated with our breastfeeding experience is so hard to put into words – it is something that only we share, something that is sacred and ours. Only twice a day these days – once, as he wakes, he sucks gently, half asleep and I brush his growing hair back from his eyes and enjoy the quiet. The second one is before bed, when he is playful and excitable, once it’s over he dives towards whatever has caught his eye, he is totally unstoppable. He walks now, ‘reads’ books, loves his Dad, hates to sleep, kisses cheeks and lips, playfully and randomly rests his head on pillows, bangs his many hammers, scribbles with crayons, cuddles into shoulders and under chins, and knows so much love. He took me to hell and then to heaven, and I am completely addicted to his firm, round body and his lively, loving soul. He finishes off our family of five. Happy birthday Bubba Boy. I always loved you, even when I hated the life we were living together, I promise you I did. These days, it’s all good.

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