Six Month Checkup!

Luke went in for his six month check up yesterday! 18 pounds o’ baby! Which is only in the 50th percentile, so all the idiots who keep telling me “He’s so big!” or “I thought he was a year old!” are just crazy. Nobody knows what six month old babies are supposed to look like.

He got two shots, which messed him up and he was crying and very upset at home. I tried a bottle and he smacked it away scornfully. I tried holding and rocking him – there was much squirming and flailing. Walking and bouncing worked for a few minutes, then the screaming started right up again. I put him in the vibratey chair the put him to sleep a few weeks back and he threw himself forward against the seat belt because HOW DARE I sit there and no be holding him!!

Finally, I set up the travel swing and aimed it at Baby Einstein (weirdest videos ever, but he loves ‘em!) and then exited stage left so he couldn’t see me. He fussed a bit and then settled in with his technological babysitters and dozed off. Thank GOD for batteries and DVDs.

He went to bed at 8 without too much fuss, and I followed about 9 (see how lively I am! I stayed up a WHOLE HOUR after my baby!). At 11, he let out a tremendous scream that had me leaping out of bed ready to fight off intruders, drive to the emergency room, lift a car off my baby, etc etc. Except nothing was wrong. His foot wasn’t caught between the crib bars, his diaper was dry, NOTHING was wrong. So I flipped him over, gave him his pacifier and afghan (because I want to wean him off two items of dependency later) and we went back to bed.

Of course, my heart was still pounding fight or flight mode and it took me awhile to calm down and realize that my husband wasn’t home. But he would be getting home soon… zzzz…

Midnight – more screaming! Still no problems, flip, soother, pacifier, afghan, baby sleep. Husband not home. Realize, it’s Thursday night, and the idiot is playing cards. Call, bitch and moan at husband, who tells me he thought it was presumed that he would be out playing cards on Thursday. I think I must be some awesome wife who has a husband who can presume I know he’s out playing cards (note – these games often go until 4 or 5 AM). He assures me he will be home at 2-3 AM.

Go back to bed. Realize that Luke had shots and has NOT gotten any Tylenol since the doctor’s office at 2:30 the previous afternoon. Realize that I am a terrible mother not to know what is wrong with my child and his chubby little thighs are hurting him.

2 AM – more crying. This time I give him the Tylenol and pacifier/afghan/soothe. Husband STILL not home.

3:30 – more crying. I actually have to pick him up to calm him down a bit. Change very wet diaper in dark, praying that there are no other surprises in the diaper as I take it off. Phew. Husband – not home. Call and bitch at husband, who assures me he’s only a half hour late. Idiot.

5:10 AM – ‘Wake up’ crying (which is more of a whining, get me out of this crib, I’m hungry). Get Luke, feed him in recliner, as I try to get a few more minutes half asleep. Luke is happy and awake and begins kicking me gleefully. Luke is also very clingy. I spare husband and allow Luke to cry in his crib (the HORROR the INJUSTICE of being placed back in the crib when I am AWAKE!) while I shower.

6:15 AM – Attempt to wake husband so I can take care of last minute out the door details before work without 18 pound baby in my arms. Husband is pissy (shocking, since he got home at 3:45 AM and has slept for 2.5 hours, but really, WHOSE DAMN FAULT IS THAT?). Stomp around room and declare he has eight minutes to wake up, and this is his baby too and dammit I’m SUPPORTING him through grad school, get yer butt out of bed. Or something like that. Get dog out of crate, feed dog, water dog, feed baby rice cereal, about which he is shaking and waving his arms in glee! Cereal! YAY! Walk baby back upstairs. Baby spits up cereal on shirt. Set baby down to change shirt. CRYING! NOT BEING HELD!

Work is peaceful today.