thematically fickle

Well, we made it home from our whirlwind, adventurous, rain drenched, fun but not-at-all-restful weekend in Honolulu where Ruby was the Best Baby Ever, only to have her come down with a nasty cold. It’s probably karma for us, since we were so vociferous with pride at her exemplary behavior. At any rate, I blame it all on the 17th flight of her short little life. Due to distractions during the boarding process that are unworthy of comment here, Sam and I apparently failed to thoroughly complete our well-practiced wipe down of the germ tube. Our girl sucked, licked and gummed every surface of that plane and has the snot to prove it.

She woke up on Tuesday morning in a listless stupor only to be jarred into full consciousness by a sticky, rattling cough and repetitive sneeze/farts, the forces of which jarred me. She spent all day Tuesday sleeping in my arms, nuzzled into my chest which would have been the most adorable thing ever were it not so worrisome. If I even tried to lay her down next to me, she would wake up in tears. And so it was, all day Tuesday that I lay in bed with Ruby on top of me. On Wednesday morning, I took her to the doctor who diagnosed her with a virus and warned me that, though mild, it would probably get worse before it got better. That Dr. Dern sure knows what she’s talking about. By Wednesday night, we had a crying, sniffling, sneezing, coughing, AlkaSeltzer advertisment baby on our hands. Ruby slept in 45-minute blocks but only with me; she would have nothing to do with Sam. If he even attempted to help me out by changing her diaper, she would wail and kick until she’d been safely returned to my arms. All night, I lay awake with her attached to me, sleeping in fits. Sam was able to catch a few hours of sleep before he left for work at 5:30 and Ruby and I got out of bed at 5:34. Then, Ruby proceeded to cry, inconsolably for 3 and-a-half hours.

It is at this point that I have to say two things:

1. My hat is off to (and I am in deep praise of) those parents around the globe who survive, with body and mind in tact, a baby with colic. I barely endured 3 hours and had I been able to drive Ruby in the car as comfort, I surely would have driven directly into a wall at high speed.
And,
2. As ashamed as I am to admit it, I lost my shit and yelled at my sick, crying daughter.

It’s true. I failed in the parent department, big time. My baby was crying and crying and crying and crying and I could do nothing for her and my skin was crawling and my brain was cracking and I finally couldn’t take it any more and I looked at her as she was sitting on my bed, reaching out for my exhausted mommie arms, and I yelled at her out of sheer exasperation “what do you want me to do?”! It hurts me to even put this down in writing. When I described to Sam what I’d done, I actually told him I yelled “toward” her because I could hardly bring myself to admit that I yelled at my baby.

In a flash of sanity, I placed her gently (though with a bit of resentment) in her crib, closed her bedroom door and put myself in a time out (aka shower) while she screamed at deafening levels that resonated through two closed doors and 15 minutes of deep breathing. When I thought I’d pulled myself together enough to be the adult again, I went to her room, scooped her into my arms, sat in the glider and began to cry. When she saw this, her face twisted into one of disbelief and she began to cry harder. Which only made me more upset. Exasperated again, I this time set her on the carpet in her room (shrieking ensued), calmly walked to the kitchen to make a bottle then went back to my bedroom to call Sam. It was 9:00am and I felt like the entire day had already happened. Ruby was still crying harder than I’d ever heard her cry before. And while I was talking with Sam, my voice quivering as I urged him to leave work and come help me, Ruby comes crawling out of her room, shrieking, dripping snot and drool inching down the hall toward me. She was so small and so helpless and I was the mean lady. I swear at that moment my heart broke into tiny little fragments. Horrified by my behavior and filled with regret at my inept handling of the situation, I hung up with Sam, grabbed Ruby in my arms and held her tight, saying all the while how sorry I was and how much I loved her. She calmed down immediately and fell asleep on my chest, in our bed, where we waited for reinforcements.

I can’t write any more about this. It really is painful for me to look at it. Sam says that it likely won’t be the last time I yell at Ruby nor will it be the last time I feel bad about it. I know this is probably true but yelling is unproductive; certainly, yelling at a sick 9 month old serves no purpose whatsoever. I’ve pulled it together since then and have managed to make it through to today, where Ruby is beginning to feel better. But I’ve definitely had a peek into what kind of parent I can be when things are NOT going so well and the baby isn’t the Best Baby Ever. I think I have some work to do.