10-pound gorilla

The real headline to begin with is that Zach has crossed the 10-pound mark (10 pounds 5 ounces last Thursday, so probably more by now). Does he feel heavier? Let me check my lower back: Yes, yes he does.

I took a surprising amount of flak for the sweet, some would say saccharine, nature of some of the last few blog entries. It seems I'm not living up to my usual cranky standards. Well, complainers, you're in luck because today the theme is cold brutal reality. Did I make it sound like things were easy? Not on a night like last night, when we were all super-tired to begin with, and then Luke started to melt down, and then Zach got incredibly fussy, and suddenly it was complete chaos with poop everywhere (don't ask). Luke finally managed to pull himself together after a long bath and a walk, and he calmed down enough to go down peacefully for a surprisingly early bedtime. Zach kept fussing and fussing until I gave him some infant gas drops, and then, like magic, he was completely calm and happy, gazing serenely at the bottle of simethicone for the next half hour. I guess you could say the gas was my fault (curse you, refried beans, for tasting so good) but in the end we worked it out and everyone was reasonably happy, or at least asleep and not able to complain about it anymore. At 10 pm, after having spent the last three hours in parental anguish, Dave and I looked at each other to say, "Is it finally over now?"

We haven't seen much in the way of direct sibling rivalry so far, but Luke is definitely testing limits in other ways. For one thing, I was in the hospital for so long that at some point in Luke's mind I shifted from Female Lead to Lovable Recurring Guest Star. He wants to spend as much time with me as possible, but he doesn't think of me as any kind of authority figure. That's led to some unfortunate conflicts, like last night when I asked him to stop drumming right next to Zach's head, and he said no, and I said I mean it, and he said no, and so on, which led to sitting in the corner (Luke not me, though the corner seemed pretty good right around then) and drumsticks being taken away. It's a familiar pattern that's been repeating itself for the last few days and I'm hoping we only have a few more rounds to go before he gives up on the need to keep testing me.

Let's see, what else is there to complain about? Zach is very congested, which makes it hard for him to breathe or eat, especially after a long sleeping spell. His longest stretch of sleep at night ends at about 4:30 or 5:00 am. But then it takes him a half-hour or so to wake up, get acclimated, and clear his nose enough to nurse effectively. Then it's a little before 6 when he finishes, and I pump some more and try to get Zach back to sleep. Then it's 6:30 when I crawl back into bed and close my eyes, just in time for...Luke to wake up and come bounding in to the room. So my morning effectively begins at 4:30.

What else? Did I mention my state of complete and utter personal disorganization at home? The mail that I haven't opened since February? The food items I keep finding in the fridge that say "Best by March 1"? The extra 20 pounds or so I'm carrying around in my midsection?

Yesterday afternoon I abandoned everything and left all three men at home to go to my friend Renee's surprise birthday party, spectacularly pulled off by her husband Dan. In order to get ready I had to open up new contact lenses, re-pierce my ears, and (literally) dust off my nice pair of shoes that I hadn't worn in four months. But when I got there it was so cool to see everyone again, and get back into the swing of things, and talk about things beyond 4 am wakeups and diaper changes and meltdowns and gas drops. Once Zach's "quarantine" is lifted we'll all be able to be out there together and maybe I'll stop complaining so much. And maybe my critics, you know who you are, will lighten up a little bit too.