The house has been a bit more tension-filled lately than usual. It's possible that there's more tension because school was canceled on Wednesday, and no one was able to escape the stifling confines of the house except my older sister.
Another possibility is that everyone has been more on edge because the baby Greg has refused to sleep through the night. Three nights of little sleep + seven grumpy people = Recipe for Lots of Tension. The baby Greg is one of the few infants who does not succumb to my ability to soothe. The baby Greg hates everything, and protests by crying. The latest thing the baby Greg hates? Falling asleep, apparently.
With everyone ready to punch through walls, the house has been interesting. This includes my brother sitting on my littlest sister today. We were about to play a round of minigolf on the gamecube. She accidentally selected a different character than the one he wanted. He sat on her, she ran off crying to Mother, and I played all three characters myself until he was sent to his room and she composed herself. Somewhere in the middle of that particular incident, he proclaimed that he doesn't "freak out over little things." I said, "She gave you Maurice instead of Julian. Are you sure you don't freak out over little things?" He was suddenly very quiet.
Not too long after that, my older sister asked me if I'd been putting the antibiotic powder in the baby Greg's formula when making him bottles. "No," I said. "You didn't tell me to."
"I DID tell you," she insisted. "You don't listen to me!"
"I DO listen to you," I said, knocking the golf ball a little too hard and wincing as it bounded way past the spot I was aiming for. "You didn't mention it."
"I DID mention it," she said. "That's why he's been crying! You're the reason I haven't gotten sleep for the past three nights!"
Tonight, the house is utterly silent while the baby Greg sleeps peacefully.
Showing posts with label Nephews. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Nephews. Show all posts
Friday, January 9, 2009
Monday, December 29, 2008
The baby Greg
I have never before taken care of a baby that cried so much.
He is most comfortable in a specific pose: he needs to throw his head back and face you, staring up at you while you support his head. When he's happy, his lips purse and his eyes cross as he tries to look at your face. When he's upset, his upper lip starts to quiver and then he gasps for air before expressing his disappointment in a surprisingly non-abrasive way.
He's usually upset because he hates all bodily functions. All of them. He can't stand burping, spitting up, or anything out the other end.
I thought I'd gotten used to him. He'd certainly gotten used to me--I was finally able to put him to sleep and even make him laugh. When we'd met for the second time Dec. 24, after our initial meeting Thanksgiving Day, he started crying the moment I touched him. Now, he seemed able to tolerate me. But then something happened I did not expect at all.
I was trying to feed him. He was crying, and nothing could make him happy. He took a few sips from the bottle, then was completely disinterested. Then the projectile vomiting started. I was alone with him--his mother had left to run some errands, and I sat there in horror while he gushed forth, three times, streams of spit up. It was everywhere. Then his face grew red and he cried, and finally, he had no strength left and lay listless in my arms.
I was horrified, and quickly found my phone to call my sister. She didn't pick up, but a few seconds later she walked in through the door. When I explained what happened, she said, "Oh yeah, he does that. He can't digest his food sometimes."
I have a small amount of patience, but my sister's capacity is even smaller. She's the only person that has the ability to truly calm him, and she is either fed up or so tired that she's ready to ... well, she once used a very strong word that I'm sure she didn't mean because she needs sleep.
"He does that."
Poor baby.
He is most comfortable in a specific pose: he needs to throw his head back and face you, staring up at you while you support his head. When he's happy, his lips purse and his eyes cross as he tries to look at your face. When he's upset, his upper lip starts to quiver and then he gasps for air before expressing his disappointment in a surprisingly non-abrasive way.
He's usually upset because he hates all bodily functions. All of them. He can't stand burping, spitting up, or anything out the other end.
I thought I'd gotten used to him. He'd certainly gotten used to me--I was finally able to put him to sleep and even make him laugh. When we'd met for the second time Dec. 24, after our initial meeting Thanksgiving Day, he started crying the moment I touched him. Now, he seemed able to tolerate me. But then something happened I did not expect at all.
I was trying to feed him. He was crying, and nothing could make him happy. He took a few sips from the bottle, then was completely disinterested. Then the projectile vomiting started. I was alone with him--his mother had left to run some errands, and I sat there in horror while he gushed forth, three times, streams of spit up. It was everywhere. Then his face grew red and he cried, and finally, he had no strength left and lay listless in my arms.
I was horrified, and quickly found my phone to call my sister. She didn't pick up, but a few seconds later she walked in through the door. When I explained what happened, she said, "Oh yeah, he does that. He can't digest his food sometimes."
I have a small amount of patience, but my sister's capacity is even smaller. She's the only person that has the ability to truly calm him, and she is either fed up or so tired that she's ready to ... well, she once used a very strong word that I'm sure she didn't mean because she needs sleep.
"He does that."
Poor baby.
Thursday, December 4, 2008
Monday, November 24, 2008
More exciting news, for me, anyway
I get to see widdle Greg on Wednesday. AHH! SO EXCITED! I dressed, inadvertently, like a mom today, and therefore I believe that it is only fitting that I will get to be the one getting up that night every two hours to feed the little tyke and change his diaper.
Normal people, I know, don't get excited about losing sleep for an adorable, helpless infant, but I make no claims and try to tell no lies. I first started sleeping lightly, anyway, when I was 13, which is when my littlest sister was born. I would wake up in the middle of the night and bring her to mom. It was very traumatizing, one night, after she'd developed a bad cough that would only go away if she were picked up, when my mother and I both rushed to the crib during a particularly awful coughing spell, and mom, getting there first, broke her toe on a little stool accidentally left there by one of my many other siblings.
I hope to break no toes this Thanksgiving, get very little sleep, and eat plates of ham, turkey, mashed potatoes, stuffed mushrooms, stuffing and pumpkin pie. I might eat some vegetables, too, but I'm not sure about that yet.
AHHHH!! SO EXCITED!!
Normal people, I know, don't get excited about losing sleep for an adorable, helpless infant, but I make no claims and try to tell no lies. I first started sleeping lightly, anyway, when I was 13, which is when my littlest sister was born. I would wake up in the middle of the night and bring her to mom. It was very traumatizing, one night, after she'd developed a bad cough that would only go away if she were picked up, when my mother and I both rushed to the crib during a particularly awful coughing spell, and mom, getting there first, broke her toe on a little stool accidentally left there by one of my many other siblings.
I hope to break no toes this Thanksgiving, get very little sleep, and eat plates of ham, turkey, mashed potatoes, stuffed mushrooms, stuffing and pumpkin pie. I might eat some vegetables, too, but I'm not sure about that yet.
AHHHH!! SO EXCITED!!
Saturday, November 15, 2008
Mornings and brand-new babies
The last few tendrils of sleep had begun to barely drift away when my cell phone buzzed.
I was so warm--so warm, and cozy, subconsciously delighted that the winter drafts had not yet begun to invade my sleepy mornings--that I groaned, thinking, no, please, it can't be time to get up yet. Not yet.
I reached for my cell phone, saw a text message--two text messages, three.
He's here; he's finally arrived.
I'll text them back at a reasonable hour, I decided, the ache in my head winning out over the joy I might have possibly felt if I'd possessed full, coherent thoughts.
Five minutes later, my phone buzzed again, this time repeatedly. A call. I groggily reached for my phone again, and managed to get one eyelid open enough to see the name. My 8-year-old sister, calling from her brand-new cell.
I'll call her back later, I decided.
Two seconds later, another buzz. Voicemail.
I reached for my phone and turned it to "alarm only." I still had another hour before I got up, and it was best for everyone if I slept until then.
When I finally made it out of bed, I had three or four pictures texts, two regular texts, one missed call and a voicemail.
The baby is finally here, the delivery went well, he's an absolutely doll, mom is doing fine.
I, and the rest of siblings, are now aunts and uncles for the third time. Hello, beautiful Baby Greg*. I can't wait to meet you, hopefully at a decent hour. As in, some time after 10 or so, perhaps.
*Not his real name. His real name is so interesting and unique that you probably wouldn't believe me if I told it to you. I decided to nickname him something "normal." Greg is very normal.
I was so warm--so warm, and cozy, subconsciously delighted that the winter drafts had not yet begun to invade my sleepy mornings--that I groaned, thinking, no, please, it can't be time to get up yet. Not yet.
I reached for my cell phone, saw a text message--two text messages, three.
He's here; he's finally arrived.
I'll text them back at a reasonable hour, I decided, the ache in my head winning out over the joy I might have possibly felt if I'd possessed full, coherent thoughts.
Five minutes later, my phone buzzed again, this time repeatedly. A call. I groggily reached for my phone again, and managed to get one eyelid open enough to see the name. My 8-year-old sister, calling from her brand-new cell.
I'll call her back later, I decided.
Two seconds later, another buzz. Voicemail.
I reached for my phone and turned it to "alarm only." I still had another hour before I got up, and it was best for everyone if I slept until then.
When I finally made it out of bed, I had three or four pictures texts, two regular texts, one missed call and a voicemail.
The baby is finally here, the delivery went well, he's an absolutely doll, mom is doing fine.
I, and the rest of siblings, are now aunts and uncles for the third time. Hello, beautiful Baby Greg*. I can't wait to meet you, hopefully at a decent hour. As in, some time after 10 or so, perhaps.
*Not his real name. His real name is so interesting and unique that you probably wouldn't believe me if I told it to you. I decided to nickname him something "normal." Greg is very normal.
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