I can set the clock by Hamish. It’s 2:30am and just like every other night he’s up to have a feed. I have woken up at that point in sleep that makes me feel as though I’ve been drugged. When I pick him up, all of my concentration is on making it from the bed to the bedroom door and then down the hall to the bathroom for a diaper change. I think of nothing else but holding on to the writhing and rooting small being in my arms and how much I want to go back to sleep.
We’ve only been at this five weeks, but I am already accustomed to the waking and feeding pattern of a newborn. Even the first night Hamish and I got up, it felt familiar, like déjà vu. Ah yes, of course, that’s because I have been here before. This time around I fight it less, but it still has its moments.
Hamish has the luxury of staying in our bedroom. Poor Corbin was booted out after two weeks. His loud grunts and wee piggy noises drove his father to say, “It’s either him or me.” I cried as I walked back down the hall after depositing him in his own room. He would later grow into the space, but at that moment he just looked small and lonely in his titanic crib. I moved him out, though, because even I had to admit that I was kept awake by his nocturnal noises.
Corbin and his father battled a little bit from day one. I remember once when Corbin was niggly and Loch was carrying him around the house, I heardLoch say something like, “You know Corbin, I’m getting tired of this. Will you just stop?” When I called him on it, he simply stated, “Well, he started it.”
Loch is a no-test-run-jump-into-the-deep-end kind of Dad. I bought myself Esprit de Corps clothing by babysitting all the neighbors’ children on Friday and Saturday nights. Loch worked as a pizza delivery guy where there were no bottles, no formula, no diapers and no toddler’s tantrums. I started my training to be a Mom when I was 10. Loch started his training to be a Dad when he was almost 35.
Because he is my last baby, I cannot bear to let Hamish go. He sleeps in a brand new bassinet nestled into my side of the bed. He is just as grunty as his brother, but somehow I sleep through and around it. I encourage Loch to leave the room to sleep downstairs on the pull out in our office and he does, leaving Hamish and I to our own devices.
This time with my second born son is precious. I get up to change his diaper in the night and then we stumble back to bed so that he can eat. We are cocooned in this warm and safe refuge for three weeks, until Loch calls the office come bachelor suite his den of dishevelment. And then I decide that it is time to collect the empty glasses and coffee mugs, to pick up the clothes, strip the bed, make it back into a couch and return Loch to us before he is ordering pizza to be delivered to his office and we never see him again. And now we are three again.
At about five weeks, Hamish starts a new pattern. Since Loch’s return I have started getting up to feed him, taking him to the couch in the living room. It is the 2:30am snack and where once it took 45 minutes to eat, my boy is becoming more efficient and is draining me in a mere 15 minute feed. But, still it feels like forever.
My body feels sluggish and fuzzy. I’m so tired that my neck is limp and unable to support the weight of my head as my chin dips to my chest. Hamish stops sucking and unlatches himself with a contented sigh. And then, as I reach for the burp cloth and begin to sit him up, the unspeakable happens … his eyes open. He looks around and seems intrigued by the lack of light. I begin to panic. He really looks awake. He looks more awake than I feel.
After a diaper change and a feed, it is now 3:00am. I begin to do the dreaded new mother midnight math. If I don’t get him to sleep until 3:30 or 4:00am, then we are halfway to the next feed. I’ll only get an hour and a half of sleep before he is up again. I have to get up with Corbin at 7:30. I begin to panic. As I try to settle Hamish, I can see that he is still rooting for milk. I offer him more but he doesn’t really want it so I do the only thing I know what to do.
I march into the bedroom and don’t ask for help but rather I stomp about cursing under my breath until my husband surfaces from his slumber to offer assistance. It’s not until daylight that I question why I am unable to ask for help and it’s not until daylight that we discuss how to handle the middle-of-the-night-alert baby.
When Loch gets up he takes the bassinet off its base and disappears with my baby. I bury myself in the covers, seeking respite from my awake son and my sore breasts and nipples. I take myself back to a dreamless sleep. I do not wake until near morning when I once again hear the small grunt-ish pleas from my son who has been returned to my bedside.
When I am awake, I think about Hamish’s nighttime wake periods. While I did not at first remember Corbin waking at night, I know now that he did. I remember having to rock him back to sleep. I remember counting to ten once his eyes closed and then counting to ten again — only stopping and starting over if his eyes opened. I would repeat this game until I could count to 25 without his eyes opening and then I would gently put him back in his crib.
For reasons unknown to me, I feel less able to settle my second son and have come to rely on Loch when I feel I’m in crisis. I marvel as I watch him with both of our boys. When I am busy nursing Hamish, I hear him patiently reasoning with our partially toilet trained son in the bathroom.
He walks the halls of our house and when he passes me, he waves Hamish’s hand at me, “Hello Mommy!” he says in a squeaky voice meant to be my son’s. He has a sense of humour that takes him through some of the crazy moments and it seems that the crash course in fatherhood that started a mere 2.5 years ago has brought him to a place of confidence. I find myself falling in love all over again with this pizza guy who is so obviously adept and prepared to guide our boys through the next 20 or so years.
Artwork Credit
“Mother and Child” Gustave Klimt
Recent Christine Shaw Roome Articles:
- Becoming Me
- An Award for Being Herself
- World's Smallest Book
- Giving up My Birthday for Water
- International Women's Day 2012: Connecting Girls, Inspiring Futures.
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