Good morning Oreo baby,
Last night was not one of our best nights. You cried a lot in the wee hours of the morning, which you haven’t done since a week after you were born.
You’ve actually been a very very nice baby, especially at night. You’d fuss a bit before bedtime, but once we get you to that sweet sleepy spot, you’d wake up only at 2am to feed, then 4am, and fall right back to sleep. And once you hit 2 months you settled for just a 4am nursing. Yup, we are the stuff of envy of a lot of other new parents.
But last night was different, and it really worried me. What was wrong baby love? Why did you cry non stop for almost an hour? Were you just gassy, hungry, or sleepy but you couldn’t find your sweet spot, or all of those three? Eventually, you settled on my thighs and held on tightly to my thumbs while daddy fed you, and drifted off to sleep on my shoulder, and then your dad’s. So it was still a happy ending after all, and we were all just left a few hours short of sleep.
But I worry still. Was that really just it? Since we went to Bohol last week, you stopped feeding from me at night. And because of that I’ve had a harder time managing my overflowing milk in the morning, thus affecting our morning feedings as well. And maybe it’s just me, but since then I think you’ve slept a little lighter, and we aren’t as close as we were before. I think we’ve gone a bit out of rythm, not like before when I’d wake up minutes before you, or when I could always tell at night what exactly you needed me to do.
And then there was last afternoon’s stressful episode. We took you for a walk to the clubhouse for a change of scenery, and we were all enjoying it up until it rained hard and we got stuck there. And then a lightning struck so close that a booming, growling thunder immediately followed, and it really freaked you out. You screamed and shook so hard when you cried, and you were drenched in cold sweat as I hugged you to my chest as I tried to assure you that it was fine.
But no, you weren’t fine at all.You were really frightened, and I couldn’t dispel all of your fear. You fell asleep right after, I’m guessing out of stress and fatigue. You woke up half an hour later as we padded through the lightening drizzle, and you smiled at us even, but I worry still. Later that day and then last night you were more fussy than I’ve ever seen you been.
I worry still. At the back of my mind there’s always this constant tugging that you may not be all okay, and I don’t know about it or I did not do something I was supposed to do to make you feel better. And I want to protect you from all the thunders and gassiness in the world, but most of the time I don’t know what to do. Oftentimes I’m not even sure what’s ailing you. And all I can do is hold you tight and sing you a lullaby, and hope that my love will fill in the gaps.
Because God knows how much I love you,