Read "Part One: Too Many Cooks" here.
Monty slept for six hours last night. IN A ROW. That said, he also woke up at 6:45 ready to go. I'm told this is a pretty normal hour for most people to start their days. I was unaware until recently that there even is a 6:45 in the morning... By 7:30 he was clearly over me pretending we could stay in bed for a couple more minutes.
Everyone kept telling us that the first six weeks were the hardest. "Don't worry," they'd unnecessarily console, "it gets easier." We couldn't understand what they were referring to. The first six weeks were a cake walk. All he did was eat, sleep and poop. We hung out in bed all day watching Netflix. He napped so much that any sleep we missed out on at night was more than made up for during the day. Also, Kurt worked part time for the first six weeks. So, I only ever had to be on my own for half the day. Pretty much as soon as Monty turned six weeks and started to become more alert and aware and Kurt went back to work this shit got hard.
My days are mostly spent trying to entertain a person who has the attention span of a flea. "Look! Look! This thing lights up and plays a tinkly tune when you touch it in exactly the right spot!! Look! Look! Here's a thing that rattles! Look! Here's something that squeaks when you squeeze it? Oh, right. You can't hold things. Look! There's a tree! Look! There's a birdie!! A car! A dog! A set of keys! My boob! My boob!! MY BOOB! Look!! Here's Mommy having a nervous breakdown!! Look!! Daddy's home! Here Daddy, don't you want to take your screaming child? Look!! Here's Mommy's glass of scotch."
Last week I took Monty in for his check up and shots. I was all twisted in knots over the fact that he was going to have to get a shot. I HATED getting shots as a kid (still do). I remember having to be held down by two adults whenever I had to get a shot. True, I might have been a bit of a drama queen, but that shit hurt. Anyway, the hospital was out of cluster vaccines, so he had to get THREE fucking shots. This meant that not only was he got to have to get stuck with a needle three times, it also meant that he would probably have pain in three different spots later in the day. I was already pissed about the shitty advice the doctor had given me during Monty's check up, so it took some serious deep breathing and self control to not start screaming at everyone I came across (starting with the woman who gave me dirty looks in the waiting room when I was breastfeeding).
I had spent the day with a friend and her new baby when he got his vaccines. It was not fun. He wailed and wailed for a good hour. My friend was hesitant to give him Tylenol. I don't know why. Risk of death or something? So, I was prepared. He was asleep when we got home. I broke out the baby Tylenol and a pair of scissors to get it open and ready before he started really screaming. As I was slicing through the plastic around the bottle with a pair of sharp scissors (you know, the plastic with the perforated part that makes removing it a breeze...) I sliced my finger open. I dropped everything a stumbled/ran to the bathroom where I ran my hand under the tap, trying not to cry and/or vomit. I envisioned Kurt getting home two hours later to find me passed out on the floor and poor Monty screaming his head off in his carseat where I'd left him napping. I put my head between my legs and held my towel-wrapped hand above my head. If Monty could get stuck THREE TIMES with needles the size of barbeque skewers, I could deal with a minor laceration.
By the time I had pulled my shit together Monty was waking up. I changed him and he watched his mobile spin around over his head for a while. Incidentally, if you're low on fundage you can skip the fancy mobile and just hang pictures of your boobs above your wee one's crib. Trust me, it'll keep him/her happy for hours. Anyway, as soon as Monty started crying I plied him with Tylenol and not only did he not die but that dude was chill and happy ALL DAY. This, I'm sure was partly due to the drugs, but more due to the fact that Monty is a God damned ROCK STAR. And now I don't have to worry that he might get Polio or die if he cuts himself on a rusty nail. I mean, whatever. I have the best baby.
Also, Kurt took the other day off to spend with Monty while I was shooting a new show for Ovation (Broadway Bash airs on Friday nights at 7 and 10pm after Smash.). He sent me this picture:
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| Killing. It. |
