Cry Baby

I've already cried in front of Westley on many occasions. He was about six hours old the first time. The midwives had left, it was snowing outside, Westley was sleeping between us in our big bed, and Rob decided that this was the perfect time to put on "When You Dream" by the Barenaked Ladies. I'd never heard the song before. With life just begun, my sleeping new son... I lost it. The baby didn't notice.

After that, if I cried with Westley nearby, he was crying too. In fact, he started it. He'd wail something about me not understanding him, and I'd have to cry because I was just trying to help, and then he'd tell me he hated me and he'd storm off and slam the door to his room. Or else Rob or my mother would take him from me.

Misery on day 15

Today, I was trying to change his diaper and Westley was fussing up a storm. It was only 10:00 AM, and I was already feeling overwhelmed. Nothing I did all morning was what he wanted, and this diaper change was the last straw. He was clearly so over me. I started to cry quietly. I put my hand on Westley so that he wouldn't try to roll over while I was too teary to see him.

He stopped fussing. I wiped my eyes and looked down at him. His chubby face was the picture of concern: eyes wide, mouth slightly agape in a silent, still, baby question.

"Hi baby," I said. "Mommy's okay."

He smiled a little half-smile, not entirely convinced. If you say so, woman.

I quickly put his clothes back on him, swung him up to my face and kissed him. Caring for this crazy baby can make me feel unbelievably frustrated and fill me with incredible self-doubt, but he's also exactly what I need to snap out of it. Thanks, West.

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