10 Days with a Newborn - Day 4, 5 and 6 - Marital Miscommunication
Disclaimer: I am in no way a medical professional or a mothering guru. Everything I write is in relation to my journey as a mother experiencing mother-like things. If you need any kind of help/guidance, please seek the assistance of a professional.
And yes, there may be some bad language in this post.
Day 4
After a horrid night of sleeplessness, there was an hour in the morning where Sammy passed out in my husband’s arms. I should have put my feet up or crawled into bed, instead I tore around the house cleaning, tidying and sanitising every bottle and teat I could find. If Sammy’s tongue-tie got too much for me, I wanted to be prepared in case I went down the formula route. I promised myself during pregnancy that I would be kinder to myself this time around. If that meant formula for the sake of my sanity and a lot less tears, then I was emotionally OK with that.
With no visitors and nowhere to be, we spent all day on the couch watching tennis, including my 5-year-old. Whoopsy, bad parenting. Sometimes you just have to pick your battles though, cause with a newborn, battles, they are a comin’. Just when you’re having a nice peaceful day, things come up and get ya.
From 3pm to 3am, Sammy was a nightmare. She wouldn’t sleep, wouldn’t be put down. By 5pm I was already losing my mind amongst the wails, only to hear another scream from outside. My husband had cut his toe badly on our ugly, brown, 1970’s brick pavement. He hobbled inside and managed to leave a blood trail all throughout the house. It was like he wanted to mark his territory or something; it was absolutely everywhere. My eldest daughter, being the superstar that she is, mopped up all the blood with a wet wipe, and I did my best to bandage up my husband’s toe while simultaneously shushing and swaying a crying 4-day-old in my arms. Sympathy for my husband was non-existent. Through the fog of exhaustion and the fire of frustration, all I could think was,
‘Great, someone else I have to f*%!ing look after.’
Day 5
My brother-in-law and his family came over for a swim. It was the height of summer and the school holidays, so the sound of squealing kids and the splash of cannonballs filled the house. It may have thrown all sense of routine out the window, but gosh darn it was nice. A glimpse into how things used to be and how they would be again one day, once Sammy was more settled into this world.
I hid inside the house, however, breastfeeding and trying to stay cool. My postpartum leggings were so hot I was starting to get heat rash. I needed them though, my tummy was still so wobbly and weird feeling, like a half empty goon bag strapped to my middle. You’d pick it up and the contents would just slosh to the other side.
The midwife visited in the afternoon and once again Sammy had stacked on the weight. Yay, at least that was one thing I didn’t seem to need to worry about. The midwife saw my tired eyes and told me how well I was doing. It was nice to hear but I knew I was heading into another round of an all-nighter with Sammy—the witching hour was just beginning. I had started to learn where every squeaky floorboard in her bedroom lay, however, and was remastering the art of transferring her into her cot. So after some shushing, some patting, a delicate placing down of a baby, then an acrobatic escape, a strange kind of dance to free myself out of the bedroom without making a sound, I actually found I got some larger chunks of sleep.
And chunks make the world of difference.
Day 6
For some reason, the day before, my husband had offered to look after our niece and nephew for the day. The swimming fun could continue and he would give his brother a break from the kids to get some work done. I mean, we were the ones with a newborn, so this seemed bat-shit crazy to me, but my husband tends to do this sort of thing. Make nice offers and regret them later.
All attempts at re-establishing some sort of normal sleep/wake cycle were out the window once more—suddenly we were doing arts and crafts with the kids, making resin jewellery. It was around about then my husband realised he had bitten off more than he could chew. I was getting snippy cause Sammy wasn’t sleeping, and getting overtired. Once the kids had left, my parents arrived for another visit and once again we were in ‘entertainer’s land’ when we really needed to be in ‘survival mode’.
My fuse got shorter and shorter. Then shorter again when we tried to bathe the two kids at the same time, leading to a poonami in Sammy’s towel. I was frustrated, tired, angry. I felt I was the only one keeping the ship running while my husband seemed to be making things harder for me. I was the one tracking Sammy’s wake windows, timing her breastfeeds, settling her to sleep, stopping her from getting overtired. My husband was the one that wanted to play with her when it wasn’t time for playing. Show her off to family when I had spent forever getting her to sleep. Cuddle her when she really needed a nappy change. I sat in this fury for a while, wondering why he wasn’t just following the rules…until it hit me—
He didn’t know the rules.
The plan I had about how to look after Sammy was in my head. I had never explained it to him. He didn’t know about sleep and wake windows. He didn’t know how many feeds Sammy needed in a day or how best to settle her to sleep. He didn’t know how many wet nappies was healthy or what colour poo we were hoping to see at change time. How long a sleep cycle was and when a terrible time to clomp past her bedroom door in his heaviest shoes would be.
I was getting so angry with him, but I was being unfair. I bounced gently on the swiss ball, tapping my tightly swaddled Sammy’s bum with one hand while simultaneously typing a long text to my husband with the other. I explained everything. A crash course in Pippa’s parenting style and what I was aiming for. All the things running through my head that I forgot he wasn’t a mind reader and therefore able to hear.
Rather than get angry with him, I actually communicated with him… and it made all the difference.
I slept easier that night. Sammy slept easier. And as I curled up in bed, I remembered how comfortable it could be to sleep without a giant stomach anchoring you in an uncomfortable position and a maze of pillows surrounding you. Tomorrow was going to be different though. Tomorrow was going to be hard….
Tomorrow was tongue-tie snip day.
Read Day 1 - The Hospital
Read Day 2 - Home Again