The Daily Nusz

****  WARNING:  SELF-PITYING BLOG POST AHEAD  ****

I swear there is something wrong with Declan.  The boy seems to cry ALL THE TIME.  I don’t mean, “Boy o boy, that Declan sure has been fussy lately.”  Nope.  He is 16 months, 6 days old.  Kevin and I can recall both times that Declan has had a good spell:

1.  Between months 8 and 9:  He slept through the night twice that month, and his naps increased to an hour and 15 minutes in length.  I remember us celebrating, talking about how he was “turning a corner”, etc.  At 9 months, his acid reflux relapsed and he didn’t sleep through the night again until after 11 months.

2.  For a two-week period in September 2008:  He was nearly 14 months old, he was sleeping through the night nearly every night AND he was cheerful nearly all day long.  Then, his top teeth started to come in. 

The thing is, there is always an excuse:  Months 0-11, acid reflux.  Then teething.  Then an ear infection. Then he started going to daycare.  Then he had the barfies.  Then teething again.  Then a virulent stomach bug that last over two weeks.  Then molars.  Then a boogery cold.  Then acid reflux again.  There is never a time that I cannot think of something that ”could” be bothering him.  When I take him to the doctor’s, she always listens intently and sympathetically, gives him a thorough exam, then announces that he’s teething, ear aching, pooping, refluxing, etc.  I leave the doctor’s simultaneously relieved that he doesn’t have something awful and frustrated that he doesn’t have something bad enough to explain the crying.

Kevin and I have noticed that he seems sensitive to environments that could be potentially overstimulating.  For example, he hates having the sun in his eyes.  Since we live in sunny South Carolina, this is a bit of a problem.  No matter what direction we seem to be driving, the sun always seems to be in his eyes while in the car.  Noisy, people-filled environments can cause upset, such as when we went to a Halloween party at the clubhouse in our neighborhood.  However, there are other times that he seems fine in chaotic environments.  For example, this weekend we went to a place called “Sports Connection” that has bowling (with loud music, crashing balls, cheering families, etc.), inflatables, a busy cafe, and video games.  I entered the building with dread in my heart.  Although he didn’t want to participant in bowling, he sat in my lap for most of the time (clapping when everyone else did), ate well at the cafe while bopping to the loud music, and screamed with delight as we tossed him down the huge slides on the inflatables.  Seriously,  I think it’s the most cheerful that he’s been in nearly a month.

I’m beginning to think it’s me.  He always wants me to hold him.  He will climb over objects and other children to get to me.  If I’m standing at the counter doing something, he will creep between the cabinet and my thighs and push me away from the countertop, raising his arms and crying.  Last night, as Kevin was carrying him off to bed, he cried, “Maaammaaaa!”.  He prefers me to stand holding him against my hip;  if I sit in a nearby chair, he’ll protest (to which I tell him to just get over it, because I’m not standing around holding a 26 lb toddler for hours).  At times his crying is relentless, piercing.  I can see his tonsils as he screams.  Snot runs down his face and pools on his shirt.  He reaches simultaneously for both me and his pacifier.  At times, in desperation, I place him in his crib, hand him some books (which he ignores in favor of screaming until he gags), and go hide in the bathroom with a magazine for 10 minutes.  After my 10 minute repreive is up, I return to his room and rock him as he slowly stops hiccuping and gasping.  Oftentimes, after this purging of emotion, he can regroup enough to eat his dinner and play a bit.  That 10 minutes of screaming is ugly, however.

At school, his teacher describes him as “funny”, “a good dancer”, “a good eater”, “only needs his pacifier at naptime”.  I ask, “Was he grouchy today?”  No, he was fine.  “Did he cry alot?”  No, he had a great day.  “Did he want to be held all day?”  No, he played great.  Her only mildly negative comments have been that he occasionally pushes kids and is the first one to wake from a nap.  She seems to think he’s totally normal.  Our babysitter, Jen, loves him.  Only a couple times in the year that he has known him as she ever indicated that he was fussy or whiney.  And she’s spent a lot of time with him.

Because he always seems so miserable, I haven’t done certain parenting things that I did with Savannah. For example, by this age, she was restricted from pacifier use.  Only at nap and bedtime.  Dec, on the other hand, is permitted to keep the pacifier in his mouth 24 hours per day.  I see disapproving looks from other parents as they tuck their child’s paci in the diaper bag and think, “Lady, if he were screaming right now, you’d be enjoying your stroll around the grocery store much less.”

Sometimes I think people think I’m making all of this up. 

At the doctor’s office. he always grins and waves and giggles.  She truly seems to think he’s precious.  Our neighbors fuss over him while he waves his hands and calls “hiiiiii”.  The only real inkling that someone else sees my pain is when I learned of a comment that my mother-in-law made when I bemoaned the fact that my nephew is a fussy baby.  She told both Kevin and Cheryl privately that she thought Dec was much worse than Gavin is at this age.  What?  I thought Gavin was pretty darn fussy.  Dec was worse?  Innnnteresting.

Then I think, “maybe he’s normal and I’m the one whose messed up”.  Maybe I’m really suffering from a clinical depression and I just have a negative, hyper-vigilant attitude.  Maybe I’m so depressed that I can’t handle a little crying from a perfectly normal baby.  Or maybe he’s moderately fussy and I’m mildly depressed and the combination is bad.

Sometimes I worry that people are going to think that I don’t like him, or that I don’t like being a mom.  Sometimes I find myself compulsively describing his temperament, using words like, “he’s always miserable”, “he cries all the time”, “I feel like somethings wrong with him”, etc.  As I listen to myself, I’m horrified at how defeated I sound.  I’m waiting for someone to say, “Oh, I’ll bet he has (insert name of some easily treated disorder).  Do (easy intervention), and it will get better.”  I don’t want to write how much I adore him.  I’m afraid it would sound insincere, as though I’m trying to compensate for my negative words.  He knows the place he holds in my heart–that’s all that matters.

All I know is that I’m getting worn out and irritable.  I’m afraid that I’m wishing his infancy/toddlerhood away in hopes that we can fast-forward to the happier times.  My fear is that this isthe happy time.  I’m afraid that Savannah is getting cheated.  Cheated out of time in my lap (because Dec is always there), fairness (“just give it to him, Savannah, do you really want to listen to him cry?”), healthy meals (I can’t face the thought of listening to screaming just so I can make a pan of lasagna and a salad), fun activities (no, we can’t go to Grammy’s for dinner because Declan disintergrates at 6:00 pm and needs to be in bed by 6:40 pm), etc.  She seems to love Dec, and I watch her as she mimics my soothing voice and makes statements like, “Come on, buddy, it’s okay” while stroking his hair.  But I hear myself as I say, “Please don’t cry, Savannah.  I can’t have you crying too.”  I guess that means that in addition to everything else, she’s getting cheated out of having tantrums too.

I don’t know.  I seem to be failing.  Damn.  I looked like such a good parent with Savannah.  Now I feel like I’m just hanging on. 

Pity party over. 

Peace out.