Robbie and I are two days into Justin’s five-day trip to Wisconsin. And we are surviving. Barely. I have not spent this much time alone with Robbie without having the respite of work since my maternity leave. And rest assured that it actually is easier to spend five days alone with a six-week-old who doesn’t move too much and gets up once during the night than it is with a one-year-old who has a mind of his own and wants to be everywhere.

Things really started to go down hill around 11:00 last night when Robbie woke up screaming. Blood-curdling, body-racking shrieks, the likes of which I have never heard before. I felt the screams in my bones. Nothing soothed him. Not Tylenol, not a new diaper, not a damn sippy cup. Anything I gave him was immediately thrown over the side of his crib. The only thing that eventually made him feel better was being held. So, I did what all the experts advice against (Well, I’m assuming; I’ve never read anything they have to say. I’ve been too busy actually being a mom to read about being one). I brought him into bed with me. He drank some milk and then had the nerve to laugh and play. I mean, seriously? So I put him back to bed, only to have the horrid screaming start again. The vicious cycle continued for an hour and a half until I finally broke down. Yes. I gave him a bottle. It didn’t work immediately, but he finally fell asleep.

I sank pretty low this afternoon. Out of things to do and armed with a cranky baby, I actually went into work. There was some legit paperwork that I needed to take care of. And some women stuck at work who wouldn’t mind being entertained by Robbie. Thank God I was right! We killed a little more time at the park, where we ran into a show-off. Jacob, who turned eight on 23 May (no idea what day that is, by the way), educated me on the best game ever (, in case you’re interested). Robbie found him amusing, but not as amusing as the leaf that he took swinging with him. All of this bought us enough time for it to actually be bath time. Only three more days to go without another adult in the house.

Totally changing gears… Today is the one year anniversary of the day we brought Robbie home from the hospital. I remember bringing him home to an empty house and all of a sudden hearing our front door open. Mom had been at the grocery across the street and saw us pull in. In a totally un-Mom move, she left the cart full of groceries near the check-out, explaining that she had to go meet her new grandson who had just come home from the hospital. I don’t think there’s any way Justin and I would have survived those first few days at home without her here. She’s the reason Robbie started sleeping in his own crib and not our room. I completely credit her to his excellent sleeping skills. She’s the reason I didn’t give up on nursing, even when it seemed impossible (31 July 2009 ranks in the top ten worst days of my life — maybe even the top five — but more on that tomorrow).

I clearly remember the four days before Robbie was born, his birth day, and the five days afterwards. And then I’ve blanked out until sometime in mid-September. I remember bits and pieces here and there, mostly the good stuff. It’s probably some sort of survival mechanism. Maybe that’s what will kick in tomorrow morning to get me through until Monday night when Justin gets home. I’ll remember going to the park, playing with the leaf, and swinging, but I’ll block out the… Wait… Was there even anything bad that happened in the past two days?


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