World War III has just swept through my home. New moms and moms who can remember what it's like to raise a newborn can appreciate this.
My three month-old started the day with a full nights sleep, something I was sure would promise smooth sailing. The sun was shining, the baby was cooing in her crib, it couldn't have been more perfect. I should've known then that it was too good to be true.
After feeding her I was able to put her down for a morning nap that lasted longer than I expected. Awesome! Time to make some breakfast, clean up the house a bit and brush my teeth!
As she stirred I watched the beautiful little girl who looks so much like me as a baby on the monitor. Could life get any better? As with all wartime attacks, you must take your opponent by surprise in order to gain the upper hand. In my case, surprise attack was an understatement.
As I lifted my gurgling cherub out of her crib I felt her iron fist latch onto my necklace like grim death, then my hair. I managed to dislodge my valuables from her grasp only to have her express her disdain with sharp cries. She's hungry. Just a quick diaper change, throw on a onesie and downstairs to eat we go.
I have learned to deal better with a screaming baby, but on this tranquil morning her piercing scream was almost too much to bear.
Feeding her proved to be another battle. The war had officially commenced.
I offered one side, she refused, screaming in protest. I offered the other side, more shrieking. Helpless and hopeless I ran to the fridge to grab the 2 ounce bottle I had managed to pump after my breakfast that morning. I warm it up as she screeches and writhes in my arms. Hurry up, hurry up, why didn't I just leave the bottle out in case this happened?! Don't drop the baby, she's wiggling so much! Can't she see I'm getting it ready?! Please just stop screaming!! What will the neighbors think?? HURRY!!!
She eats furiously as the bottle quickly drains, my patience depleting. What's gonna happen when the bottle is empty? I don't have anything for her and if I did, she'd refuse it like she did earlier...
As expected, she pitched a fit when the bottle was through. I carried her through the house trying to keep my cool. Murmuring "It's ok" into her ear clearly wasn't dissipating her anger at having had her bottle taken away. My opponent was gaining more ground, and I succumbed to fatigue.
We walk outside into the gorgeous sunshine and she gets distracted by the cars and people going by. There's hope yet, maybe the war is over after all. She pukes all over my arm and the sidewalk. I've gotten so used to this I continue to hang outside for another 10 minutes. (The old me would never recognize this unshowered, make-up-less, sweatpant-wearing, puke-covered woman.)
Little did I know she had a sneak attack planned. She appeared happy, almost calm as we went back into the house. I even brought her into the kitchen while I made lunch for myself and she cooed in her holding cell, the empty baby tub.
**WARNING: I am going to be candid here, do not read if you are queasy or about to eat!**
It was then she decided to drop the bomb, figuratively and literally. I heard it happen with force and fury. Before I could even triage the situation her feet were in it, her legs, my hands - which were now holding her legs trying to avoid the fallout. No luck, we were in the thick of it now.
She squirmed and wriggled as she coyly smiled up at me with those big blue eyes. All I could do was laugh. Clearly my opponent had outwitted me again. Well at least she's already in the tub. But now what????
I peel the clothes off her as I hear the pot on the stove overflow. My lunch! So much for that. I shut off the burner and go back to the battlefield. I've never seen so many casualties in my life, the outfit, the diaper, the bib, e-v-e-r-y-t-h-i-n-g.
Can't leave the baby on the counter to get the wipes, diapers or outfit which lie peacefully in the other room. Can't take the baby to get these things. Paper towels became the wipes, kitchen towels the bath towels. Being home alone with a baby is not an easy task, especially during war.
I filled up the tub and scrubbed my heart out. Thanks to Johnson and Johnson, five minutes later she smelled baby fresh. I wrapped her in kitchen towels and brought her upstairs to change. I had relinquished my forces, it was time to surrender.
I choose a blue onesie and a new bib. She wears it proudly, the victory of triumph emanating from her pores. She smiles and coos as I pick her up. A burp. She's just spit up on the bib. My husband can't get home soon enough! World War IV is on it's way, I can feel it.
Luckily, I have some time to regroup before her forces are sent across enemy lines. I see her eyes begin to close and she goes down for a nap!
I think about the trying years ahead and how many more times something similar to this morning is bound to happen. Unfortunately, I'm sure this won't be the last time my opponent comes for me. All I can do is keep pressing on...
Surviving this war will take everything I've got, and that my friends, is worth a glass of champagne!
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