I want to get back into writing. It used to be such an outlet for me – whether it was writing in my diary, hashing out a plot line for dreams to write a book, or just venting out what was cluttering my mind. I neither write in my diary anymore nor do I further my plot in my future book.
These cluster feeds are slowly chipping away at my sanity. I’m up from 1am-6am tending to baby Dom’s cries. I pick him up and rock him to sleep. The second I put him down, he wakes up frantic and begins to whimper and cry. Motherhood is such a dream for some. I merely stumbled upon it at the ripe age of 23. My first was such a different experience from my second child. Child. Baby. It’s so weird to say. I am a mother of two. But I digress. My first baby – water broke, epidural wore off by the time the birthing began, sepsis, NICU, diagnosis, specialists. My second baby – contractions, epidural-ed during birth so I didn’t feel anything, hemorrhoids. I don’t think I would have ever really been ready for motherhood anyway, but stumbling upon it makes me feel like I wasn’t really prepared mentally for it. Shane, our first, had to be woken up to be fed. He didn’t really move until about five months in. He was such a wonderfully quiet baby. Now he’s a curious little sass who tends to get into everything all the time. Dominic, our second, cries every 3 hours on the dot to be fed, if not earlier. He cluster feeds. He has to be burped. He’s gassy. He’s very strong. He’s cranky. He’s upset. All the time it seems. He’s hungry all the time. Maybe it’s the exhaustion, but I’ve been thinking about life before kids. Why didn’t I take advantage of more things? Why didn’t I appreciate life more?
And.. I can’t even finish a thought. Dom’s up again.