While I’m working on my birth story, I thought I’d let you know how things are going around here:
In fact, I am convinced that the hospital gave me someone else’s nine pound, red-headed baby. I’m sure there were probably several nine pound babies born with red hair at the small community hospital where I gave birth, right? Those are two very common characteristics of babies, right? There was obviously some sort of mix-up, and I’ll be on the news at some point in her life saying, “I had no idea!”. Because if you think I’m giving up this awesome baby for the screaming, unhappy, pain-in-the-ass kid that is actually mine, you better think again. Good luck to whoever has that baby! Have fun! Please don’t check the hospital records for awhile!
Here’s my list of reasons that prove I am caring for another woman’s child:
1. She enjoys her swing: Rob insists that Phaedra liked hers, but that was for like a week, then she cried the whole time she was in it after that. We mainly used it to set the babies in while we took off our jackets.
2. Sleeping for long stretches is her jam: She’s been sleeping at least 2-3 hour stretches since she was born. In the hospital, she slept for five hours straight, and only woke up because the nurse came to do her evaluation and woke her up.
3. Sleeping for long stretches in her own crib is her jam: It figures the one baby that I don’t bother to set up the real crib for is the one that decides to actually use her crib. If this lasts, I’ll have to put away the travel crib and break out the real one from the attic. Seriously, though, wrap that kid up tight in a blanket, and she’s content to sleep wherever, including her own bed. It’s creepy.
4. She takes a pacifier: I watched her root around for her hands yesterday while I was trying to get everyone ready to leave the house, and out of curiosity and desperation, I gave her a pacifier. I fully expected it to be spit back in my face; instead, she took it gratefully and fell asleep. I almost cried, it was such a beautiful sight.
5. She is content to wait a little while if you can’t give her what she wants immediately: She’ll fuss, then kind of wait for a minute, like, “I told you what I want, but I guess you’re busy, so I’ll just hang tight while I wait for you to do it.” She loses her shit if you put her off too long, but it’s more like a justified kind of anger, so I don’t hold it against her. It’s not her fault her (alleged) mother’s too big of an idiot to feed her baby when she asks to be fed.
6. She did not have to spend the majority of her first night after being born in the hospital nursery because no one could get her to calm down. Even Phaedra, my “happy” baby, spent half the night in the nursery because she wouldn’t stop crying. (The baby currently known as) Surrey spent half the night in my room sleeping.
7. She self-soothes herself back to sleep if she wakes up before I can even get to her crib. I’m not talking about, “I let her cry until she goes back to sleep.” I mean, “Before I can get out of bed and walk to the bedroom kitty-corner to my own, she’s figured out how to go back to sleep herself.” I had no idea babies actually did this. I ended up bringing her to bed the first night home because I got tired of getting up out of bed every fifteen minutes when I heard a noise that turned out to be nothing.
8. I can easily burp her after feedings. This is unprecedented. I like to think that I am pretty competent in most things baby-related, having gone through the baby stage twice already. One thing I never, EVER got good at: burping. My kids would never burp for me, no matter what position, no matter the technique, no matter how hard or soft I patted or rubbed their back. Everyone else on planet Earth could get them to belch the goddamn alphabet, but not me. This one, though, gives up burps for me left and right (small, petite burps, granted, but burps nonetheless). It’s simply amazing.
Booger would be so proud.