Saturday, August 14, 2010

I Do Not Like Green Snot and Drool

I do not like them Sam I am.

In the past I've been accused (mostly by myself) of only writing when things are good. This was not always the case. In fact, as a repressed, mildly-angsty, journal-writing teen, I tried to capture the lingering pain of adolescent crushes and existential wondering with novice poetry and original "profound" quotes. I would then go around quoting myself, saying things like "Circumstance is life's only true guideline," or "We are distracted from distraction by distraction,"' or some other god-awful alleged truism. Also and very unfortunately, my primary inspirations back then were Dr. Seuss and Shel Silverstein, and the rhyming poetry of a sixteen year-old doesn't sound nearly as painful as the experience. Unless your forced to listen to it or re-read it. In the end, I would look back on both the poetry and the pain saying, "Who the hell wants to remember that?" before ripping out the pages.

That being said, let me just summarize the last three days with these three non-rhyming words: Totally Sucked Ass.

At the beginning of the summer, Carrie and I brought Amari back into our bed from the futon on the floor deciding that it would be easier to get her (and us) back to sleep after nighttime feedings. The experiment was a tremendous success. One of us would comfort her while the other fetched a bottle, and more often than not she would fall back asleep immediately. Although we weren't sure we were doing the right thing, the attachment parenting literature encouraged it, saying that this time is precious, fleeting, and would be missed when our daughter outgrows it.

Three nights ago, Amari got sick for the first time in months. Initially we weren't sure if it was teething pain, a cold, or a reaction to the bread we'd introduced into her diet. She tossed and turned and moaned and kicked and clawed and kept us both up most of the night. We took turns trying to soothe, but Carrie was getting sick, too, and I felt like I had to step it up. By four thirty in the morning, I was frustrated and exhausted. Unfortunately, Amari's pink bunny was too far away to grab and throw across the room, so I resorted to the very childish and loud tossing back of my side of the sheets before snatching Amari up to go downstairs.

That night was only the beginning. For the next two days Amari was oozing snot and drool all over her face, getting rosie-cheeked rashes as a result, and while she will normally play independently for long periods of time, she would not let us leave her side without long, anguished complaints. It felt like the first month all over again, and had it only been teething, the parenting books said this could go on for months. Mercifully, Amari woke up yesterday with less goopy fluids and more smile on her face. Last night, she slept like a...well...a small person that only wakes up twice a night. I just don't think that really describes a baby.

Rhyme that Teddy Geisel (Dr. Seuss's real name).

It's nice to have our daughter back. Here she is in her "Oh The Places You'll Go Shirt"

Tomorrow: Amari's first day on the lake.

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