Last Friday I became one of those new moms who cries in public out of sheer fatigue and frustration. It was Day 8 of Jackson’s cold, which hit a fevered pitch (no pun intended) overnight, and he’d been screaming nonstop for about 18 hours straight. I hadn’t slept in three days and nothing I did would calm Jackson down. We were both at the end of our ropes, so out of desperation, I bundled him up and took him out for a walk, despite his cold and despite the chilly temperature outside. At one point he actually quieted down for a five minute stretch and I thought I might be able to sit and get some rest at the nearby coffee shop. So, I hedged my bets and placed an order. The second the barista started ringing me up, Jack opened his little mouth and let out a scream to rival all screams. Everyone in the coffee shop started shooting me dirty looks.
“Uh, I’ll take that in a to-go cup,” I said over Jack’s wails.
“Already got one for you,” the barista said, avoiding eye contact.
And that’s when I burst into tears. I grabbed my tea and shuffled out of there, shushing Jack as I wiped away my own tears. And then I called Drew at work and had him talk me down from the ledge.
That was one of the bad moments.
But there are good moments, too. Lots of them. Like yesterday, when I gave Jack a bath and dressed him in his little frog-green onesie that my friend Chad gave him, and lay him on the bed to swaddle him and before I had a chance, he started doing all these Kung Fu moves. He was so cute, I wanted to gobble him all up. But I took photos instead and kissed his little feet and told him how happy I was he was feeling better.
Ok, I then I gobbled him. I mean, look at those cheeks; wouldn’t you?!