Memories or Nightmares?

My daughter Emma turned four in May. She just started pre-school last week. It has been fantastic for her, and for me.

Will you judge me if I say.... Truly, a dream come true?

I watched her yesterday, before she knew I was there to pick her up . She was talking, laughing, truly socializing with her classmates. So grown up.
It dawned on me, she's a real person.

Shit, I remember when she was a baby.

 A wave of sadness came over me,  just for a minute.

When she was a sleeping baby, she was amazingly peaceful and sweet.

When she was awake, she was crying . And, when I say all she did was cry,  all she did was cry.

I tried everything: slings, baby carriers, Moby wraps, bouncing her on balls, the three S's , I shushed her so loud I almost cracked my own head open.

   The graco cuddle swing became a  permanent piece of furniture in our living room. We put her in that thing so much we had to replace the fucking batteries once a week.

I walked her, I paced her, I strolled her, I bathed her. She cried.
I turned on the dryer, the vacuum cleaner, the blow drier, the baby einstein music,. She still cried.

In the car, all she did was cry.
At times, I wanted to jump out  of my own window. unfortunately, I was driving.
My husband and I discovered the static station on a.m. radio. We blasted static. She stopped crying.  Was static the only thing that would quiet her? What a cosmic fucking joke.
 I imagined myself in a straight jacket being hauled into a room yelling, "Static, STOP THE Static, PLEASE just STOP THE STATIC!!!!!!!!!"
My life had been resolved to constant nursing , crying, and the occasional blasting of am radio station static.
I looked at my husband and I cried.

I nursed her. She cried in between feedings. On a good day, she would violently pull off while feeding, and scream at me.
I was miserable.
It was my turn to cry, I had no nipples left, and no self- esteem.

I was desperate for answers. I looked at other new moms. They were perfect at it. They looked thin and cute. Some even wore bikinis at pool play groups and nursed. Really?  
I was modest, I needed my hooter hider. It looked cute, but the damn thing made my boobs sweat like there was no tomorrow. There wasn't, all the days ran into each other.

The carrier with their little bundle of joy was always sleeping, quiet and demure.The  carrier with mine, was  filled with a bundle of red faced screams and curdled breast milk throw up.  
They're babies weren't crying 10 hours a day. WTF?
I was a fat, tired, inadequate mom with breast pads, and maternity clothes on.

This was not what I envisioned.   Elastic waists,  and boobs like cows, sexy.

I went to my doctor- she said Emma had colic and was allergic to my milk. (I read into that, "allergic" to my milk metaphor). Thinking on some subconscious level, she was allergic to me, as her mother.

I eliminated milk, cheese, ice cream, nuts, red meat, gluten, bread, pasta, and mostly all food from my diet, so I could nurse her without the crying. I guess it helped, but I was too fucking delirious to truly know.

My hair was on fire all day and most nights.
 I ate ground turkey and goat cheese for dinner every night and guerilla munch cereal for breakfast with goat milk. Let me tell you, DELISH.

Not my vision of living happily ever after with my newborn.
 I slept from 8pm until 1am for  about four  and a half months.
And by sleep, I mean next to Emma on a bed, a couch, a floor, or a rocking chair.

I do believe I suffer from some form of permanent brain damage from this period of time.

My heart though, my heart will never be the same.
I think it's a little bigger, after falling in and out of love with that red faced screaming colicky baby.

No one tells you what it's really like.............
(especially if you're as  lucky like I was.)